


Giving Chaos the Laugh

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Harlequin Romance [2]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Action/Adventure, Chaos, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Drama, Eldar, F/M, Gods, Humor, No Canon Knowledge Required
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 61,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Laughing God launches a bizarre scheme against the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, and sends Tarna on the quest of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tyranid Welcome

Tarna, growing fairly bored with being cooped up on Epsilon Station with all those weird bunnies, wandered around exploring the station and found one of the docking bays. There were several ships inside and not a lot of people, but one of them caught her attention. It was the smallest ship there, shiny and painted in light and dark blue, sleek like a racecar. She approached it and ran her fingers over it, and along its side was painted the word "Whistler", apparently its name or class of ship.

Glancing about to make sure nobody's looking, Tarna murmured, "I think I'll just take this little baby for a joyride. I'll put it right back when I'm done."

She popped the hatch and climbed inside and glanced over the controls. They weren't too different from those on Theodore's Darknova, which she had flown plenty of times, so it only took a moment for her to get the engines started up and flying the little Whistler out of the docking bay. The disorganized rebels aboard the station didn't even realize that she wasn't the one supposed to be flying this ship.

"Whee!" she said as she flew the Whistler around in circles, testing its speed and agility outside the station.

Then she noticed a blinking light coming on and an alarm, "Danger: Radiation levels approaching lethal levels."

Oops, she'd come a bit too close to the neutron star. She quickly banked the ship and flew out away from it, but in her haste to get away from the high radiation area, the ship fell into one of the many unstable wormholes around the Epsilon neutron star.

"Ah, crap," Tarna said, keeping close hold on the controls.

The wormhole transit was perhaps the most harrowing that Tarna had ever experienced, a seeming maze of sharp angles and impossible curves that tore at the eye and demanded hair-trigger reflexes to avoid sudden flares of power which threatened the very existence of her tiny craft. At long last, as the very dregs of concentration were being drained away from her, the ship broke free of the hellish wormhole into the darkness of normal space.

She might be uncertain as to her fortune as the return portal appeared to have vanished, the phenomena not greatly uncommon to have a one-way trip, leaving her seemingly stranded for now until she might found another way home. The vague instant of worry was shattered suddenly, as the sensors of the craft re-oriented themselves after the scrambling effect of the rough transit only to find local space literally jammed with flotsam and jetsam.

One such piece caromed off the sleek hull of the ship, tearing a ragged hole in its skin, and a shrill alarm hammered at her ears. She worked to frantically stem the cascade of malfunctions which follow, but luck did not seem to favor her as another unidentifiable, and larger, bit of debris slammed into the tail section and sent the ship careening and spinning wildly out of control toward the briefly visible circle of a nearby planet.

Looking from beyond her immediate sphere, one would see two titanic fleets intermingling in the shoals of space around the planet, energy flaring and burning to shatter debris to the cosmic winds... such as the field she'd happened into on her transit. Both forces were of seemingly organic design, though one almost seemed to _breathe_ with life with each ravening beam that seared out from it, the other merely alien and beautiful.

Hive Fleet Kraken appeared to be holding its ground well against the forces of the Eldar that were seeking to purge it from this resource world, and that did not bode entirely well for Tarna. Her dizzying, spinning trajectory was drawn inevitably into the well of the planet's gravity, and she had a few moments to consider her life and its sins as she plunged through atmosphere in a smoldering, melting craft toward a blackened crater far below.

Internal systems ejected the pilot at the last possible moment, the idiot mind of the computer obeying its most sacred programming even in its death throes. The impact was horrific, the small craft _not_ designed for such harsh treatment disintegrated into small bits of wreckage which she could briefly see beneath her before the shock wave reaches up and snatched consciousness away to descend into blackness. It was such a pretty racing ship, too.

Some unknown time later, she wakened, feeling battered and bruised, but apparently retaining some blessing of one god or another as no more threatening injury was apparent. From her vantage at the center of a smaller crater placed within the larger which she had glimpsed earlier, there was no sign of anything to cause immediate worry. Well, other than the fact that she was well and truly stuck here now.

A faint movement toward one edge of the larger crater did draw her attention, equally quiet sound accompanying it.

Tarna groaned softly, checking herself for injuries momentarily and wondering just why she was still alive after all that. She peered over to where she thought she saw movement, brushing herself off slightly and slowly, unsteadily climbing to her feet. If it was hostile, she'd really prefer to not meet them lying down. She quickly checked to make sure her bag of holding didn't get lost in the crash as well, as her sword was in it.

Tarna found herself to be in surprisingly good condition, far better than she could possibly have hoped for in the circumstances. To her dismay, however, there was no sign of anything salvageable of her equipment or a hint of useful remains to her craft. Nearby were the scorched and blackened remains of humanoid figures and other things not nearly so recognizable, some laid nearly at each other's throats as might be expected in a war.

The source of movement would seem to be one of the former, a humanoid in blasted and melted armor, likely standing at the precipice of oblivion if their apparent condition is any indication.

She cursed quietly and wondered if Sardill had anything to do with her current predicament. Tarna headed over to the figure nearby and did a quick examination of the armor in hopes of gleaning some clue as to where in the Abyss she had ended up, and searched for any working weapons with which she might defend herself.

The being's armor was deformed beyond recognition for the greater part, though one curved, intricately designed wing arched from its back. Its helmet bore a striking resemblance to a bird of prey, the lightly glowing eyes seeming to turned to examine her as she looks it over. The figure reached and curled its fingers around the hilt of an elegant sword, gems and runes along its length flaring with light at the touch.

Light dimmed, however, as the being shook its armored head and rolls with effort to the side. "You should not be here, child of man," it spoke, the voice gently melodious even scarred with pain. "The Reavers consume this world."

"Well, I didn't exactly come here by choice," Tarna replied. "I'd very much like to be somewhere else, but my ship appears to be a heap of scrap metal now. And worse it appears that I've lost my weapons in the crash, too..."

The being chuckled lightly, then broke into a fit of ragged, bubbling coughing, only after the fit subsided reaching up to release the seal of its helm with a hiss.

"No, I would not expect even one of the Emperor of Man's most foolhardy to make such a choice," he replied, thrusting the helmet aside carelessly to draw a few breaths of the relatively clean air.

Long, sharply-pointed ears only served to accentuate the quiet strength and elegant grace of his features, even the bright crimson of his blood failing to do more than mar near-perfection. Eyes of a brilliant, emerald green fastened on her with bright intensity, seeming to look beyond the skin while the faintest brush of fingertips across the barriers of her mind may be felt.

"I will aid you," he said, "If you allow it to me. You will not survive to leave this world save through it, but the choice is yours."

Tarna gave a nod. She'd been around elves among the Elkandu for so long that she wasn't the least bit surprised at his appearance, nor particularly hesitant.

"I'll do whatever I can to help," Tarna said with a bit more confidence than one would expect from a single unarmed human.

"I will return soon to serve in another place, such is always the duty of my name," the Eldar replied quietly, then coughed again, blood bubbling at his lips before he went on, "This world and the purpose we sought in it is likely lost to us, however, and this may not be!"

The last sparked a deep-seated energy that seemed to flow from him in waves, anger and wrath combined with a deeper, subtler, more ancient power.

"Take this blade, that you may face what comes in my stead," he continued, "Perform this deed and you will know the thanks of the Eldar."

He sank back, eyes closing, and it would appear that he was slipping into death at a most inopportune moment... he hadn't explained _anything_ yet! That concern was brushed aside though as a gentle offering is presented at the doors of her mind, a gift offered with some urgency.

Tarna, used to similar telepathic contact with the Elkandu, readily opened her mind to him as she reached over to do as he said.

A storm flowed into her mind, a whirlwind of thought that scoured and searched at first and then seemed fully content and stifled the fury to a gentle breeze which flows gently. Their purpose here was learned, the invasion of the Tyranid having fallen upon a world that held an ancient Warp gate, a gate capable of leading to countless strongholds of the Eldar were it to fall into enemy hands.

The nature of the Tyranid themselves overlayed atop this awareness, the destructive tendencies and voracious appetites underscored by flickering memories of their devastation of countless worlds. It began to subside at last, the breeze gentling to little more than a breath and then falling to silence. Oddly, the physical form of the Eldar within the armor seemed to grow translucent with the process, fading wholly as quiet descends.

Tarna looked at him oddly for a moment, frowned a bit, and went to take the blade as he had said, glancing about the vicinity for signs of anything that might be immediately wanting to kill her or worse.

Only the armor yet remained, and even that seems to lose substance beneath the dimming light of the day. Her examination of the surrounding terrain revealed that her unplanned landing had deposited her atop a plateau, its sides steep and yet not entirely without purchase that might lead down into the alien jungle that stretches as far as the eye may see in any direction.

The jungle was like a sea of movement in many directions, though, her new-found knowledge seeming to warn her against drawing too near to such places as they would doubtless be home to the endless hordes of the Tyranid seeking to devour all life. Occasional glimpses were caught of creatures that definitely don't belong here, the glistening carapaces of the Hive Tyrants and massive bulk of Carnifexes lumbering through the surf.

Any direction she looked was a dangerous proposition, but her gaze was drawn toward the north and the faint outlines of a mountainous range. There, she knew, would she find what the Eldar had tasked her to find... that, and a way _off_ this crazy world.

Frowning a bit more at the fact that the Eldar's body had just disappeared like that, Tarna first, however, went to see if she could find any trace of what happened to her bag.

The uncontrolled descent of the Whistler and its subsequent explosion left no sign of her equipment immediately apparent. The resilient nature of the item would suggest that it likely survived the experience, but with the erratic trajectory she'd arrived with? It could have ended up _anywhere_.

Tarna grumbled unhappily for a moment as she sighed and headed off in the general direction of where this gate thing was supposed to be. Primarily, however, cursing Sardill for her luck, whether or not it was even true.

Sardill, fortunately, was far from this place, or he'd likely find great amusement in the events which follow; primarily of finding what appears to be a semi-safe path to descend from the plateau, only to recognize the slinking form of a ripper leaping out from behind a boulder. Surprise favored neither of them in this instance, as both went tumbling ass over teakettle down the slope.

Tarna reacted with more of a resigned sigh than the "oh crap" one might expect, though. But, as dying wasn't high on her list of priorities since her "curse" was broken, she was damned well going to see about getting out of this mess alive.

Fate did seem to be a bit more kind at the foot of the slope, however, the two beings finding themselves separated rather than tangled about each other. The newly-acquired sword remained readily to hand, fortunately so as the snake-like Tyranid swarmling shook off the momentary confusion and hissed hungrily at Tarna.

Tarna's long hours at sword-training came quickly to mind as she leapt to her feet again and whirls around swinging quickly in an attempt to neutralize the creature.

Rippers relied upon the undulating mass of numbers to pose a significant threat to the worlds which they consume, digesting swaths of organic material before returning to be reabsorbed into a pool to feed the appetites of the horde as a whole. The trained reflexes of a warrior are more than sufficient to the task, the gleaming blade slicing it into two uneven parts mid-lunge.

Unfortunately, it was quite uncommon to find such a creature running around alone, and rustling in the nearby jungle would seem to give credence to the glimmer of assessment.

Tarna wasted no time in hanging around, moving to head away quickly before she got overrun by the things. She didn't even bother swearing about the matter anymore already. Unlike Kirlin, Tarna actually had common sense and a healthy amount of self-preservation. _If it's trying to eat me, kill it. If there's a lot of them trying to eat me, run like hell._

Tyranid in the midst of a feeding orgy were not the stealthiest of beings, and though there were a great number of them about their movements were readily detected in advance. Her headlong flight was forced to detour as larger groups or creatures were glimpsed or heard, but it became increasingly difficult with the waning light. 

The last shreds of the day found her in a shallow streambed, a fallen tree to one side of a deepening pool concealing a darkened maw of what may be a cave. Better than running around in the open at least, Tarna thought, going to head inside warily.

Oddly enough, recent experiences and age-old cliches aside, the cave appeared to be safe and free of the infestation that stalked the darkening night beyond. It seemed, in fact, to be quite cozy and comfortable compared to the thick and humid air that is normal for the jungle. Perhaps the gods of this place didn't completely hate her after all.

If anything, that only tended to make her more nervous. She was far too paranoid to count on her own good fortune. She proceeded to explore the place thoroughly.

The cave was a natural formation, likely caused over time by the placid flow of water bisecting its floor which moved to feed the stream she'd recently encountered. It appeared to rise from underground in an irregular curve of the cave, perhaps one of countless sources of water that have fed the jungle for years and years. Nothing seemed out of place or threatening, at the moment, beyond the occasional unnatural cry from the dark outside.

Tarna reluctantly accepted that there was nothing in here about to eat her at the immediate moment, and settled down to rest for a moment warily. At least, she thought, it would give her a chance to dream-scout the area, but she didn't much like the prospect of what whatever passed for a dreamworld in such an unfamiliar universe might hold.

Nothing immediately leapt forth to savage her delving into the dreaming planes, her scouting readily discerning the energies of the ones gorging themselves upon the life of the jungle nearby. Several swarms were active within the area, even in the dark of night, larger Warriors acting as nodes to maintain control of the lesser creatures as they forage and destroy. 

No sign was found of a Hive Tyrant in the vicinity, thankfully, the gifted memories speaking of a need for caution in dealing with these powerful creatures. They were ultimately the ones who direct the symphonic destruction pursued by the swarm, the Warriors acting in their stead on a smaller and more local basis as the need arises. 

The lesser creatures were, as a whole, mindless and without purpose when left untended, the Hive mind being the only part of them lending 'sentience' of any sort. She was nearing the end of her scouting foray when something else suddenly appeared to draw her attention, though nothing more than a simple ball that bounced erratically hither and yon without seeming purpose.

Tarna was somewhat relieved for the most part, but was far too cynical to think that her luck would hold out and only tended to take that as a sign that things are going to get worse. She went to investigate the strange ball-thing curiously.

The ball was a brightly and many-colored thing, the pattern of colors seeming to change as randomly as the erratic path it follows. It slowed as she neared it, seeming to show some sign of interest in her as well as it bounces around her with bright abandon before vanishing suddenly without a trace or seeming reason.

Tarna was fairly confused, and attempted to figure out where it went, but failing that went to return to sleeping.


	2. Strange Meeting

"Hello!" came a cheerful greeting upon Tarna's return to the here and now.

The speaker was immediately clear and present, in fact lounging rather lazily perhaps a body's-length away. No sound or any other indication of his approach or arrival had presented any warning, but his cheerful demeanor didn't appear to be the least deflated by what must surely be a suspicious Tarna. He bore at least a superficial resemblance to the being she recently encountered, similar ears and nobility of feature, but otherwise much different. His clothing was simple and strangely seemed hand-spun, comfortable-looking to match the ease of his manner.

"Fancy meeting you here, Tarna," he added with a grin.

Tarna blinked a bit as she woke, looking at the person. "Hello," she said tentatively.

The stranger didn't seem the least put off by her lack of enthusiasm, in fact quite content to make up for it with his own.

"What brings you to this arm of the universes, hmm?" he asked, "Not enough going on in that strange little corner where my brother's mucking about lately?"

"Your brother?" Tarna wondered. "Well, I must say I kind of ended up here by accident..."

The stranger laughed and waved a hand dismissively, "Accident? No such animal. I can't take credit or blame for it, in this case, but I'm certainly not above taking advantage of it to be sure!" He reached behind him, dragging a familiar-looking bag out and tossing it to land at her feet. "Think you forgot that, by the by."

Tarna picked it up and peeked in it and said, "Thank you!" She, however, restrained herself from kissing him.

He grinned, accepting the warmth of her delight gleefully. "Wouldn't be fair to play the game if the players didn't have the toys they're used to using, would it?" 

"So who are you? And who is this brother of yours you mentioned?"

"Pish-posh," he replied, "The name's not the thing, really, not when it comes down to it. Suffice to say that my brother's been napping for an overly-long time and I'm in a bit of a mood to lend him a hand, though the stuffy old thing would never even thank me for it, I assure you! Much like Baharroth, the stick you met earlier. Absolutely boring to tears, the lot of them."

"This has nothing to do with Shazmar does it? Tell me it doesn't have anything to do with Shazmar please." Shazmar tended to make things more complicated.

"Shazmar?" he chuckled and shook his head, reaching to draw two apples from his flattened pocket and tossing her one before taking a bite of his own. "Mm, no. Not quite the same, though I've heard of him now and again while poking about the Warp. In truth, the game I propose is on a somewhat smaller scale than deciding the outcome of existence, very tedious business, that."

Tarna shrugged and took a bite and said, "So what's the gig, then?"

"Ah, to the point at last!" he replied cheerfully, tossing the apple carelessly away into the darkness, where it made not a sound. "You've already obtained what you really need as far as getting off this stodgy little ball of dirt is concerned, Probably even get you back to your drab and dreary existence beneath the thumb of that Jami fellow."

Tarna flinched inwardly at the mention of Jami. That was not a position that she looked forward to finding herself in again.

He paused and looked at her with a quirked brow. "Nasty bit of business, that, should really find a loophole or nice little rabbit den to scurry into and avoid it. Or get someone to lend a hand. Well, whatever," he continued with a shrug. "So what do you plan on doing on getting off this little speck in the cosmic scheme of things? Return to that? Or would you be interested in something a bit more... entertaining? Play a little game that helps my brother out, despite himself, and I'm sure you'll find the adventure appealing to your vagabond ways and perhaps quite profitable as well."

"I'm listening," Tarna said. "Any day that doesn't end in me being killed or tortured is a good day in my opinion."

"Oh, I can't promise you'll avoid any of _that_ ," he responded with a light laugh. "The best games involve risk equal to the possible rewards, after all. But, to the heart of it, there were four items created a very long time ago, some would say as a cosmic bit of a joke."

He broke into a broad grin at this, for no apparent reason, which many would no doubt find to be highly unnerving.

"These items, orbs made of a most unusual material, to be precise," he continued, "wended their way hither and yon, to and fro, akin to the little bouncing, brightly-colored balls they might otherwise have been in a more cheerful, enlightened existence. Sadly, these creations fell afoul of four most-unsavory powers and are since quite tied to them, all-unbeknownst to their current possessors." He chuckled. "In short, you would be given the opportunity to retrieve these for me, risk your very soul and sanity along the way, and perhaps die a truly horrible death... but the rewards?" He grinned and shrugged. "The choice is yours, or I can always return you forthwith to any number of places."

To support this, the scene around them flickered and darts from one familiar setting to another before returning to the cave.

"So, are you game?"

Tarna pondered for a moment. She was thoroughly convinced that whoever this was, was apparently this universe's version of Shazmar, if not Shazmar himself screwing around as he had a habit of doing.

Tarna finally said, "I'm probably going to regret this, but alright, I'll do it."

"Oh, very good!" he replied, leaping nimbly to his feet and clapping his hands. "In that case, let's get you away from this stuffy little cave and on the road to adventure, eh?" He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "The kids really do need this little problem taken care of, though, and it's really not _me_ to do so directly, so..." He's grinning again. "We'll let you finish this out, and let your road meander inevitably back to the game."

Without further ado, the cave vanished in a blink and Tarna found herself in a much larger cavern, at the center of which lay an alien temple of a design similar to what the El'dari might have constructed.

"Careful, Tarna," came a voice in her ear, "The Tyranid are already within and using their specialized minions in an attempt to subvert the gate. Should be fun!" After that, only silence and the occasional odd scuffle enfolds the cavern.

Tarna stood up and pocketed her bag again, and with a grip on her sword she took a deep breath and went to head toward it.

The temple was bathed in a harsh, unnatural light, the source seeming to be a number of quasi-alive 'objects' placed at intervals around it. Nothing moved immediately outside, though there was evidence of recent activity and faint sounds echoed out from the open main entry. There might be other ways in, but cursory examination had not yet revealed such.

Tarna roughly thought that a full frontal assault by herself against however many of them might be here was probably not the best idea she could come up with, and proceeded to creep around quietly to try to find any sort of back door, handy windows, or whatever.

Doors were evenly spaced on all four sides of the temple, each likely leading into the same interior spaces if what she 'remembered' from the gifted memories was accurate. Nothing else, unfortunately, presented itself to her diligent searching at the moment, though the bright glare of the 'lamps' definitely affected the overall view a bit.

Tarna quietly approached the vicinity and picked a door at random to creep in quietly, hoping to at least get the drop on anything that might try to eat her.

The interior of the temple was far larger than the outside would suggest, not an uncommon phenomena in the universe Tarna came from. Shadow and light competed for dominance in the chamber, causing odd patterns in places and on the scene which opened out before her.

Gleaming arches were set at three equidistant points around a smooth, crystalline-smooth circle on the floor, the alien beauty transmuted and turned grotesque by the pulsating, living tendrils which curled around and dug through the structure. Odd, purple-skinned humanoids performed various tasks at various points, including what she knows to be a control panel, seeking to override its defenses.

Unfortunately, these beings were not alone, as Tarna found when four sharp taloned arms reach for her from the darkness.

The genestealers were known and hated the galaxy-wide, their kind responsible for the abominations currently plying their trade at the Warp gate. It did not hesitate, as would none of its kind, sinking steel-rending claws into Tarna from all different angles, its primitive instincts savoring the first taste of fresh genetic material even as the Hive mind alerted the others of its kind nearby.

Tarna, used to using quick teleportation in close combat, was quite inclined to at least attempt to do so.

A resonant hiss stopped the genestealer from making its kill, its siblings gathering around and turning as though listening to something. Without any particular care or regard for the wounds inflicted, they dragged her out into the open chamber, their progeny continuing their work without paying any attention to the proceedings at all.

The source of the earlier hiss became apparent as a creature unfolds itself from a shadowy corner, most likely mistaken for a bit of statuary or structure before as it lumbered forward ponderously and lowered its plated skull to study the intruder. Tarna could feel talons scrabbling and prying at mental shields, ripping through layers to get to the meat beneath.

Tarna looked over at it, wincing and grunting a bit at her wounds, and clinging to her sword she tried to focus and teleport over to attack the thing wherever it appeared weakest.

Tarna, despite the pain of her wounds and perhaps drawing on the reserve provided by memories of even more grievous ones past, flickered from the grasp of the genestealer who had recently bested her and brought the sword in an arc to intersect with the huge creature's 'knee'. A spear of raw wrath slammed into her shields as the Hive Tyrant tumbled like a tree and scrambled away from her with its remaining five limbs.

Every creature in the vicinity closed into a protective line around the wounded tyrant, compelled by its dominance, leaving Tarna perhaps a few moments to plunge into the borrowed memories and figure a way _out_ of this mess. The use of the portal came readily enough, as well as how it might be set to destruct afterwards, but the question remained whether she would be able to accomplish both in the time allowed.

Clenching her teeth against the pain, Tarna teleported again nearby and proceeded to try to figure out how to make this place go boom. Time didn't really occur to her much, aside from evading anything attempting to rip her to pieces or do other unpleasant things to her.

Tarna didn't need to disable any security or safety protocols; the Eldar had allowed for needing such use. The destination codes weren't really forefront on her mind and she picked one at seeming random, quickly activating the gate afterwards. A quick run and leap, and she stepped into the distorting field that took her elsewhere.

The average minion of destruction that comprises the Tyranid hivemind was not, perhaps, the brightest of beings. The Hive Tyrant, on the other hand, was quite perceptive even while recovering from the shock of having a limb amputated. Genestealers leapt after the fleeing humanoid, but were repulsed by the shimmering field she passed through, the titanic explosion which follows not only decimating them but ensuring an ice age for the planet.


	3. Visit to Ulthwe

She arrived safely at a similar structure, though it was much more pleasingly lighted and comfortable all-round. The tall armored figures that approach and level their weapons were, however, not quite so comforting. At least they didn't immediately open fire.

Tarna would doubtless be pleased with the explosion behind her were she present to see it, however if she had been so she would probably be less than pleased. She grunted softly and stopped to inspect her wounds to make sure she wasn't about to bleed to death, keel over from something important having been skewered, or otherwise.

One of the guardians looked to the side as though listening to something, most likely a commlink of some sort, then lowered his weapon and motioned for his companion to do the same.

"We are ordered to see to your well-being, human," he said, "Do you require immediate assistance?"

"Well, I don't think I'm about to keel over on the spot," Tarna muttered. "Although I would hardly complain if it isn't too much trouble."

"One does not question a Farseer's orders," the guardian replied quietly and offered a hand in support. "Allow me to escort you to a healer, that your wounds may be tended before being brought before him."

Tarna gave a nod and gratefully accepts his assistance.

The colors of their armor wasn't much to speak of, but the sleek elegance did add a certain appeal. He aided her through curving halls to a chamber which would seem to be more a garden than a sickbay, the austere Eldar working there actually breaking away from pruning a plant as they entered.

The healer's eyes narrowed as he saw the wounds, not caring whether the patient was Eldar or outsider as he said, "Rest on the table, I will tend to the wounds inflicted by those... ugh. Creatures."

The guardian helped her up to the table and then moved back to the door, where he took up station to wait.

"Foul beasts," the healer muttered, "Drink this, it will cleanse any toxins which might have clung to your flesh."

A vial of a pale green liquid was offered, its scent a not-unpleasant mint. Tarna happily complied and downed the liquid obediently. The elixir was equally soothing to the taste as its scent would imply, leaving a warmth that spread through the body in its wake.

The healer gently probed at the wounds and 'tsked', his gaze growing unfocused as psychic energies coalesced and gently knitted the wounded flesh. Not a wholly painless process, but considerably better than the bonesaws and knitting needles of bygone days. He steps away and gently tilted her chin upward to look into her eyes and made a softly-satisfied sound.

"The wounds you suffered," he said quietly, soothingly, "are often infected, but it would seem you at least were brought to me while my aid would prove of use. How do you feel?"

"I feel okay. I've had worse," Tarna said. "Many thanks."

The healer nodded and offered a thin smile. "You are most welcome, though I fear I may do little for your garments save offer something to replace them. This is the first time I have encountered your kind here, human, what extraordinary circumstance brings you to Ulthwe in such a state?"

He moved away and returned with a neatly-folded flowing robe, which on examination would be much akin to his own. Comfortable and of finest quality. Tarna carried around a small wardrobe in her bag, but didn't argue the point in this case, merely thanking him and going to put it on.

"I must say, I didn't really intend to come to this universe at all. I was in a place called the Karzan Galaxy, which has recently suffered heavy attacks by Chaos. But my ship encountered an unstable wormhole that led me, unfortunately, to a planet under attack by Tyranids... I wasn't feeling overly picky about my destination when getting out of there."

"I cannot claim familiarity with the Karzan Galaxy of which you speak," the healer replied, "But can readily understand your haste in escaping the clutches of the Tyranid. Such creatures are a blight on many worlds, their numbers as countless as the stars if the tales of our warriors are to be believed."

He chuckled lightly, and turned an imperious look on the Guardian waiting at the door as they signaled for attention.

"I would presume," the healer continued with a faintly wry grin, "that someone else is commanding your presence beyond the means of this poor healer. May your gods watch over you, human."

He returned to his garden as the soldier stepped back into place and made a silent gesture for her to follow. Tarna gave a slight bow to the healer and thanked him again, then turned and headed out to follow the Guardian out of the room.

The Guardian escorted her, at a brisker pace this time, through further halls, seeming an endless circle of curious glances from the Eldar they passed and artifacts of ethereal beauty. At length, they arrived near the center of the world, a grand garden, and the Guardian merely gestured her forward and faded back from view.

Awaiting her was a serene, ancient Eldar dressed in a flowing, multi-hued and intricately patterned robe, an elegant blade strapped at his waist and an arcane staff being used seemingly as a walking stick.

"Come, come." He gestured. "I have been awaiting your arrival, though events were oft-times unclear to my sight. I would wonder, and ask, why."

Tarna approached and gave him a bit of a bow. "What do you mean?"

"Please, be seated."

He gestured to the circle of stone benches nearby. Tarna took a seat and listened to him attentively.

"First, to explain. I am Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwe Craftworld. I realize that such things would mean little to those of the Empire of Man, yet my visions would suggest they might mean even less to you. My title is simple enough, for it denotes my ability in those things which my people prize most highly, the potential to call forth the scattered skeins of time and see distant places and events which have, are, or may occur. It is that which has brought me knowledge of your arrival here, among certain other signs that one of my abilities could not help but pay attention to. Is this explanation sufficiently clear?"

Tarna said, "I think I understand. There are those who do similar things where I come from as well. What would you ask of me, then?"

Eldrad nodded, "Excellent, then you will understand when I say that your venture has occupied an unusually-prominent aspect of my visions, and that I cannot wholly explain. What the actions of one human weighed against the sweeping realities of this universe? Why should they feature so clearly as a whole, and yet some instances be entirely without knowing? The first is perhaps a function of the second, and I would ask what passed within a darkened cave on a distant world. There is another mystery which it may well address, but I shall not know until hearing of it."

"Well," Tarna said. "I, er, seem to have encountered one who is, as far as I can tell, the counterpart of the one we call Shazmar in my home universe..."

She silently prayed that no dildos fell from the ceiling.

"Who is this Shazmar," Eldrad gently prodded. "that I may have a frame of reference to rest conclusion upon?"

Seeing was his calling, but equally important was the manner and order in which the skeins were unraveled and the pieces of the puzzle were placed.

Tarna wasn't too sure how to explain this to somebody who isn't an Elkandu, but said tentatively, "He's, well, a god, and he has a really strange sense of humor..."

An odd expression briefly rested on the Eldar's features at the description, knowing all too well the likelihood of the origins of his many questions now, it might best be described as pained.

The expression smoothed quickly as he sighed. "Then you were most likely 'graced' with meeting an avatar of the Laughing God. Enigma wrapped within riddle tied tightly about with a puzzle and covered with a mocking grin."

"Yeah, that sounds like Shazmar alright," Tarna muttered.

"What then did the great Prankster have to say to you?" Eldrad asked. "Already have you answered one mystery which plagues me, perhaps another may follow suit which affects the Eldar as a whole."

Tarna summarized what he said to her. "Whatever that all was supposed to mean, anyway..."

Eldrad did not seem confused at the conversation, or at least some part of it, thought racing to an incredible and impossible conclusion.

"His brother..." he said thoughtfully, then did offer a quiet smile. "You do not know the hope you have given me this day, one that was certainly never considered possible and yet I cannot gainsay its truth in light of recent developments. To explain, I would need return to many, many thousands of years ago when our own folly brought the awakening of Chaos in this universe. The Foul Gods awoke and tore our home asunder, yet still did at least one of our Gods stand against them. Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-handed, the God of War, strode out to meet them and was ultimately vanquished. His essence was split into shards which each such Craftworld as this has carried since and used in times of great peril to defend us... until recently, when none of these shards could any longer be awakened. The Laughing God speaks of his brother Khaine, of that we may now be certain, and his 'game' may well be of greater import than you may ever realize."

Tarna listened and murmured, "Hmm... So what exactly am I to do then?"

"Therein lies the final mystery," Eldrad replied gravely. "Only recently has a murmur been heard upon the Infinity Circuit, seemingly an echo of our honored dead and yet infused with the breath of life, a memory of a place that was heretofore unknown to us and anathema to the Eldar as it rests within the depths of the Warp. The Warp is the domain of the Harlequins and the Laughing God. I believe this place is intended for you."

"The Ethereal Plane?" Tarna wondered, trying to confirm that she's thinking of the same thing at least.

"Perhaps," Eldrad responded. "I am not familiar with the terminology of your own land, any more than you might be of mine, yet in olden times was the Warp often described in such terms. In more recent ages it is associated more readily with the insane, the mad, and the powers of Chaos."

"I used to know our own version of the place as 'the Dreamworld', but to all observations it's considerably more benign and calm where I come from. But I am, in the terms of my own people, a Dreamwalker."

Eldrad considered this explanation and shook his head slowly, "I believe that they are differing concepts, then, as the Warp is a maelstrom of energy and power that lies between this universe and whatever else may be. Only those of our tainted kin, the forces of Chaos, and the Harlequins reside there. To do so is to tempt madness and loss of the soul, as the Warp Spiders might explain as they use it to teleport during battle."

"It does sound like we are talking about the same thing, however," Tarna said slowly. "You have to cross the Ethereal Plane to travel to other worlds, and to teleport. Teleporting during battle? I do that myself, as well. The Dream Ninjas back home were trained in short distance teleportation during combat."

"It is perhaps similar," Eldrad conceded. "For the Warp is used in just such fashion here, though the dangers are immense, perhaps due simply to the strong presence of Chaos in their depths here. I might very much enjoy the opportunity to examine this whence you came, were the times very much different than they are. The realm of the mind and all which it encompasses are, needfully, an interest of mine."

"A vast fleet of Chaos went to the Elkandu Universe. They attacked the planet of Lezaria, but after that they moved on to the Karzan Galaxy," Tarna murmured.

"That would certainly explain the interest of the Laughing God in one who came from that place, then," Eldrad said, "The Foul Gods have forever been our foes, and I somehow doubt that the Prankster has forgotten or forgiven them for devouring the greater number of his brothers and sisters. Would any living being not then be inclined, however indirectly, to act against the ones so responsible?"

"They had actually, for a time, forced me into following them," Tarna said quietly, "But the angels of my universe had found a way of cleansing that taint from a person."

That revelation drew a clear reaction from the Eldar, a brow rising in surprise. "To so cleanse the foul cling of Chaos' stench is something which we have always considered impossible, or at the very least unlikely."

Not that the idea had been pursued far, in truth, as samaritan aims were generally an early casualty in war.

"If there's something to be said about the Elkandu, they're very resourceful," Tarna said dryly. "It never ceases to amaze me what all they've accomplished in the last ten thousand years."

"Would that the last ten thousand or even five thousand years were not spent embroiled in a galaxy-spanning war," Eldrad remarked, equally dryly. "Such an innovation may well have surfaced here, and now knowing that it is indeed possible it shall doubtless be examined once again as to reasonable and feasible expenditure of resources."

"The Elkandu like to say that anything is possible, given the inclination and persistence," Tarna said, staring off for a moment. "I don't know." She looked back at him and said, "How would you then suggest that I start with this matter?"

"In truth," Eldrad replied, "I would suggest you avail yourself of the opportunity to rest and tend your weariness first, then accept what we may offer that you have need of. Thereafter..." He lifted a hand in an elegant gesture of uncertainty, "The Laughing God alone may say. Your path from this Craftworld is clear, whence from there only he may say."

"I'll be grateful of such," Tarna said, nodding to him. "And my thanks for your assistance."

Eldrad stood gracefully and nodded, a Guardian approaching them on one of the many garden paths.

"It is the least that we may do to aid you, you need only ask and what may be done shall be done. Poor hosts indeed would we be for not so offering in the wake of an encounter with our most quixotic deity." He smiled lightly and motioned to the armored Eldar. "This one shall see to your needs."

Tarna stood and gave a bow. "Thank you again." She headed off with the Guardian pensively.

She was escorted to luxuriously-appointed quarters which were not so far distant from where Eldrad had been left, the chambers airy and light, imbued with a calm serenity and peace that belied the warlike face they show to the galaxy at large. The Guardian left her with a courteous bow, noting that he would be at the door if anything was required.

Tarna really wasn't going to complain about being treated like royalty. She was more than happy to take the opportunity to get a moment's peace, something rarely afforded to her in past years.


	4. Flight into Madness

Tarna had been left largely to her own devices after her meeting with the Farseer, the passage of time delineated only by a lavish meal provided in the dimming light of 'day' and then a slow, natural descent into 'night'. Morning arrived and another meal was provided, equally lavish in proportion and quantity, a fortifying elixir much akin to the one she'd received from the healer indicating perhaps the origin of the obvious intent.

There was a gentle chime at the door as she neared the end of her meal, a Guardian entering a full minute later and coming to a graceful attention.

"The Farseer requests your presence, I will provide an escort."

Tarna nodded and went along with him without complaint.

The Guardian led them on a shorter path this time, ending at a transport station and they settle into a sleek gravcar for a considerably-shorter trip than it otherwise would have been. They arrived in short order at what was obviously a landing bay, elegant Eldar craft of various classes neatly docked and only the coloration of one sounding a discordant note in the placid scene.

Eldrad was standing near the craft, its deadly lines alternately blurred and accentuated by the riotous coloration which would serve well in the depths of the Warp itself, speaking in quiet tones to a somewhat shorter than average Eldar who would appear to be the ship's pilot. Both nodded to her in greeting as she approached, the pilot examining her with frank interest.

Tarna headed over and gave a bow, and gave a look over the craft and the pilot.

"Greetings," the pilot said. "It would seem that I shall be your guide for a time. Interesting turn of events for a Corsair."

"Hmm?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Eldrad inclined his head first to the pilot, then to Tarna. "He has been informed of your destination within the Warp, and while their affiliations may sometimes fall into question there is no doubt that there are no better pilots to be found in this galaxy. May your gods watch over and protect you from our own."

He said the last with a faint quirk of a grin, nodded once more, and departed serenely.

The pilot looked Tarna up and down frankly, then shrugged.

"No worries, human, the Corsairs are the best at what we do, you'll get to the Chaos-blasted depths of the Warp intact or neither of us will be around to worry about it, eh?" He chuckled and gestured toward the rear cockpit. "Climb aboard, bit of a journey ahead of us."

"Sure thing," Tarna said, climbing inside and taking a bit of a glance around the interior as well.

She did not comment that she really really hoped "her" gods weren't watching over her, as she didn't exactly think much of them.

The pilot climbed aboard with easy familiarity, stepping back to see that she settles safely into the rear seat.

"No idea how familiar you may be with Eldar-made craft, so I'll point out a few things. One, don't touch anything no matter how bright and shiny it might look."

He grinned, obviously a bit less reserved than the average Eldar she'd encountered. 

"Two, we're experts at gravitic technologies, so you're going to feel very little in the way of motion even during the most strenuous of normal maneuvers. Things will get a bit more complicated as we get into the Warp, that particular area definitely nastier than most, so you'll feel the occasional pressure of the field holding you safely in place. Don't panic and look back at rule number one. Any questions?"

Tarna said, "What kind of acceleration and maneuverability does this thing get? What kind of weapons does it have? Does it have an on-board replicator?"

Grinning, the pilot turned to hop into the pilot's couch in the forward cockpit, his voice coming clearly over the commlink, "If you're interested, I can give an example or two of what this ship can do. We're not known by the Empire of Man as a bane to their spaceways for no reason."

He sealed the two cockpits and went through the pre-flight with ready ease, the craft rising with a smooth thrum of power from the deck.

It turned with confident ease, seeming almost disdainful of the smaller craft it had shared a berth with, and emerged into space with a predator's grace.

"We're going to be taking a brief stop along the way, since we're headed into the Iyanden area of space and I've a few things to drop off with them. Plenty of time between now and then to stretch our legs."

"Sure thing," Tarna said. "Mainly lately I've been flying as a gunner rather than a pilot. My partner Theodore is a great pilot, but he can't aim for crap."

"Gunner, eh?" the pilot replied with a chuckle, "Amusing that you're sitting in the chair that my own usually occupies. Crazy as they come, but she never misses. What say we have a little fun once we're away from their high-and-mightiness's Craftworld? Bringing up a display of weapon capability and function now."

A holographic display lit up in front of Tarna with a variety of submenus.

The raider streaked through the darkness as the pilot continued, "Simple enough if you've got experience with weapon systems overall, the tricky part is having the spatial and tracking sense to hit your targets when they're going as fast as you are at widely-divergent vectors. Take a look at the tracking menu, you'll see we're not too far out from an asteroid belt that will be just the place to go for a jaunt."

Tarna happily took a look over the thing carefully, trying to get a feel for the thing and grinning like a fool in the process.

The raider moved, for want of a better term, like a bat out of hell and the pilot seemed more than inclined to take it through its paces. They found themselves within the outer ring of the asteroid belt in very short order, the craft diving and swimming through the dangerous celestial bodies much like a sea beast through shoals.

"Heat em up," he called over the commlink, "Painting our target now, give it all she's got."

The tracking screen marked a medium-sized asteroid, a basic compositional report scrolling along the bottom as numbers scroll endlessly to the side. Gunnery controls were not so very different than she might have encountered, though the sheer fury she might unleash with such a small craft might be a surprise.

"Roger," Tarna said, then wondered obliquely just how many Eldar there were named 'Roger'. She figured 'not many' and proceeded to fire at the hapless asteroid.

Brilliant light may be what she expected as the on-board weaponry fires, but what actually occurred was an eye-twisting distortion of space that rippled out from the D-cannons to strike the rock. Its apparent dimensions seemed to change, growing and shrinking alternately, until it suddenly shattered into countless fragments beneath the unnatural stress.

"Whoa, sweet," Tarna said as she watches the poor rock get shattered.

A shower of light particles peppered the energy field surrounding the ship, but the pilot had not even slowed in his headlong flight; arrogant or assured, one might never know.

"Excellent shot," he complimented her, the craft turning to veer along the path and skim across the skin of a larger body. "I think I'll leave those controls active when we hit the Warp, may be useful should we encounter our dark cousins."

"Who?" Tarna said. "There's drow here too?"

"Drow?" the pilot replied. "Never heard of them, no, there's a group of Eldar that moved to live in the Warp long ago and went crazy with it, or so I've heard it said. Nasty bunch, no doubt, don't ever get caught by them or you'll live just long enough to regret it and wish for death."

"No, the drow back at home are dark elves, and 'elves' are what we call... well, yeah..."

The pilot's soul assuaged by her reaction, the craft turned to dart through the far end of the field to continue their journey.

"Hang on to your sanity," he continued cheerfully, "Warp translation in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

The glittering depths of space seemed to shimmer and warp around them, much like the effect on the recent asteroid casualty, then the chaotic whorl of the Warp's energies enfold them.

"Don't look too close, they say you can lose your mind out here." He thought of the joke about Corsair pilots being far too late for that, but doesn't share it.

"Oh, I think I lost mine decades ago back in another universe entirely," Tarna commented obtusely. 

"Bit of a trip ahead of us," the pilot said. "Faster than taking the long route, but largely dull unless we encounter various hostile factions who work here. Chaos and the Dark Eldar are the greatest potential threat, the other would be the Corsairs ourselves, though we won't have to worry about that." He chuckled. "All that leaves is total random chance, a warp eddy or storm, or the Harlequins and they're about as random as you get!"

"Oh, certainly," Tarna said dryly, "Not a problem at all." She chuckled softly.

"Well, you could have taken the quick route," the pilot replied with a chuckle. "The Craftworlds and quite a few other places are connected by Warp Gates which allow essentially-instantaneous transport, but for some reason old Eldrad seemed to believe you'd prefer this way. Not that I blame you, rather go jaunting about in a raider any day than go from point to point without seeing a thing between."

"Yeah," Tarna said in agreement. "Some people wiser than me would say 'the journey is more important than the destination.'" Tarna gave a soft snicker. "Teleportation's no fun."

"Although," he responded thoughtfully, absently as a blip appeared on the tracking screen, far closer than it could have approached in normal space yet farther than the other races would have seen. "There are times when safe can be good. Let's see what we've got here. Ah, wonderful, Dark Eldar. Don't bother to power down the weapon systems, that'll only inspire them to attack."

He chuckled and dipped the craft's wings to the left and then right, signalling that they weren't unaware of their shadow.

"They'll move along soon enough, they know better than to bother our ships, no profit in it for them and the price would be high on our next contract."

"I'll take your word for that," Tarna said, chuckling softly and watching the Dark Eldar absently. "What's this about contracts?"

"They're a nasty lot," the pilot replied, "but they're not entirely insane, even if they do seem like it sometimes. We Corsairs will work for them, or the Eldar, all the same to us as long as the mission looks to be of interest to one family or another. I've gone on a few with them, always fast and bloody, a wonderful day to be a pilot."

He shook his head, unseen, watching with a measure of relief as the other ship curved away and vanished in the sensory shroud of the Warp, then added quietly, "But better to collect and leave when it's done, not think too closely on the poor unfortunates that will be at the end of their pain whips tomorrow."

"You get paid to do stuff?" Tarna said.

The pilot chuckled. "You think these lovely craft maintain themselves without any sort of resources? We trade our services for parts and whatever other materials that we might need for our continued existence. Perhaps not so cozy and relaxed as the Craftworlders, but we do fairly well by ourselves for the greater part."

"Heh, don't look at me to criticize, I was just wondering," Tarna said, chuckling again. "Although considering some of the strange things I've seen in my time, I wouldn't be too overly surprised if this ship sang opera and ate cabbage."

"Oh, she can sing," the pilot said, "Though I tend to leave the musical accompaniment for actual combat situations. Even in the Warp there's more than enough to keep a Corsair occupied. Ask any race what they'd least like to see descending upon them from a Warp transit and I'll wager that we will be mentioned more than once."

"Heh," Tarna replied. "Personally, I'm a Death Dancer and a Dream Ninja. Although I still have yet to figure out just what it is the Death Dancers do. Aside from flying around the galaxy doing insanely dangerous things and blowing things up in the process."

"There's something wrong with that approach?" the pilot replied with a laugh. "Unlike our cousins, we realize that life is indeed for the living, not mourning forever the passing of those who go before us. You'll see what I mean when we reach Iyanden, a destination that I avoid as much as possible as they are positively morose and melancholy at all times. Pfah!"

"I wouldn't generally say so, no," Tarna said. "I do happen to like being alive, and not being killed, tortured, or worse. But then I suppose I should call myself lucky to not even be old enough to remember the Planar Wars. Not that much of what I've seen in the times I've seen was amazingly comforting anyway. But I digress."

"You digress?" the pilot countered. "That is precisely what I was talking about. Take a look at your life and ask, have I done all that others might have been afraid to do? If the answer is yes, then you're approaching it with just the sort of spirit that more of the laggards around here are in dire need of. Moping forever upon this, that, or the other thing, and never once stopping to realize that _they_ are still alive."

"Yeah, really..." Tarna said. "I never really thought self-pity to be a very much useful activity. Well, usually I've been too busy running for my life to engage in it, anyway."

"It would appear you've been successful at it thus far," the pilot responded, absently as he adjusts instrumentation for the translation from the Warp to normal space. "Preparing for return to Iyanden space, keep an eye on the tracking screens if you like though I doubt we'll be finding anything unusual in the area."

The violent maelstrom of light vanishes suddenly, replaced by the calm serenity of the void. The shrill clangor of warning brings back unpleasant memories for Tarna as they emerge, sensors detecting quite a bit more activity than the pilot had likely anticipated.

"Chaos," he spat out, even the Corsairs finding nothing in that number to allow accommodation. "It would appear Iyanden has guests." Then he paused before continuing with some reluctance, "Not part of the contract, though. Realigning the Warp transmitters for re-translation."

"Chaos?" Tarna said with a touch of surprise, peering at the screen. "What, where are you going?" she about sputtered.

"That's a Khorne fleet out there," the pilot grated, not liking the idea in the least. "We're going to turn right back around and return to the Warp, another hour or two will bring us to the spatial coordinates I was given to deliver you to. The sidetrack to Iyanden is something I'll deal with later, when things are quieter and there's not a contract at stake."

Tarna twitched a bit, continuing to stare. "Yeah, okay..." Tarna said reluctantly.

The Eldar Craftworlds were tremendous constructs, and this one dwarfed the forces that swarmed about it, spitting energy in a dazzling display. Smaller Eldar ships danced through the ranks of the heavier, slower Chaos vessels, tearing through the heavy armor with D-cannon and pulsar fire. Their losses may be fewer, but it was glaringly apparent that the defenders had far smaller numbers to bring the battle.

Tarna just continued to watch quietly. Now, if Tzeentch had been involved, then it would have been a bit more personal...

Sweeping around, the pilot remained silent until initiating the countdown to re-insertion, leaving each to their own thoughts as power flowed into the powerful engines. The translation was rough, not having spared quite the time that might otherwise have been spent on the task, and the craft shuddered and rolled in the grip of a Warp eddy.

"Brace yourself," the pilot said, likely needlessly.

The raider savagely twisted and then was thrown suddenly forward as though by a giant hand. Silence descended after, cleared of the eddy and returned to the 'normal' conditions of the Warp.

Long minutes passed, when suddenly the sensors shrilled yet another warning as strange ships appear and then thunder past them without pause or hesitation, one of the nearer ones giving a brief glimpse of what might be a cruelly-laughing face decorating its hull.

"Harlequins," the pilot snorted, the momentary surprise fading and he sets the course for their destination.

"So..." Tarna said quietly. "Where are we going exactly, anyway?"

"No idea," the pilot replied with quiet reserve. "I looked into the area before accepting the contract, and have been here before, but nothing has ever been mentioned anywhere near where the destination coordinates. That might have something to do with a known Harlequin presence, the Corsairs don't normally interact with them or press too closely into their space."

"Wonderful," Tarna muttered dryly. She didn't say much else, going quiet and fairly well content to pass the trip in silence.

The pilot seemed equally content to let the silence stretch, the energy of the earlier arc of the flight vanishing beneath the distant hammer of the Blood God. There was sudden activity as they neared their destination, however, as two craft seemed to appear nearby and settle without hail or contact at the raider's wings.

"It would appear we're not to deviate from this path," the pilot muttered.

Harlequin craft, larger and appearing to be more heavily armed than the raider, though seemingly not bearing any hostile intent so long as their escort was not spurned.

Tarna watched them quietly, murmuring, "So it appears."


	5. Setting Up the Game Pieces

Their course led them unerringly to a small 'island' in the Warp, stabilized by means that only the varied denizens knew of or were willing to risk. The escort ships followed at their wings until just before it, then veered off suddenly and vanished into the sensor-shrouding madness.

"Expected by the Harlequins," the pilot muttered, bringing the ship to bear on a clearly-marked field. "Not sure I envy you."

Tarna gave something of a snort. "Well, not much sanity left to lose," she muttered. "Thanks for the lift."

"Fortune be with you," the pilot said, setting the craft neatly on the field and popping the rear canopy open. "I'll be leaving, old Eldrad made it part of the contract as he said you wouldn't be needing further transport. Though what you'll find here..." he trailed off, the shrug implied.

The field was nearly bare, only a small shack standing off to one side, not a sign of welcome or direction to be found. Tarna climbed out, gave him a bit of a wave and stepped away, taking a look around at the vicinity.

The pilot closed the rear canopy, opening his own for a moment to call out, "Watch yourself! If the Harlequins are involved, then the One they follow can't be far behind." He paused, a flash of hate crossing his aquiline features, "I've got a delivery to make."

With that, he closed the canopy again and the ship rose with a quiet hum, veering sharply back in the direction from which they'd come.

Tarna mumbled to herself, "Yeah, I figured as much."

She was a little leery on a second inexplicable meeting with Shazmar's counterpart, but she turned to see who might be around nonetheless. No help for it at this point.

"Well," came a familiar voice, its source lounging against the door frame of the shack, arms folded over his chest. "Took your time getting here, didn't you? And not a single Chaos spawn to your credit, for shame!" He laughed and pushed away from the door, motioning her to follow as he walked within. "Come along, then."

Tarna smirked a bit and headed on after him. "Don't remind me," she muttered. "So what's all this then?"

Unsurprisingly, the inside of the 'shack' was anything but, instead appearing to be a giant playroom of sorts with oddities scattered here and there that seemed to be greatly out of place; racks of grinning skulls, flayed skins, and other similar trophies primary among them.

"Of course I'll remind you, what else would I have to laugh at, hmm?" He chuckled and pulled a chair over, draping himself lazily into it. "Stuffy old Eldrad filled you in on all the sordid details, I'm sure," he continued, "So we can dispense with the mystery hour. I'm not against answering any questions you might have beyond what he may have been able to give you, if it suits me. My resources are a bit farther-reaching than his, to be sure."

"Questions? Nope, definitely not," Tarna said. "I'd like to keep what's left of my sanity, if it's all the same to you. Relatively speaking at any rate."

Tarna wasn't about to forget the time someone asked Shazmar what the meaning of life was.

He grinned at her. "Tsk, sanity is so overrated, leads to dreadfully-dull things like staying out of harm's way and mulling and wailing endlessly about the torments and drudgery of life."

He waved a hand in airy dismissal.

"But, so be it, you've come to play the game and perhaps gain rewards greater than your wildest dreams, and who am I to gainsay that? Well, besides the minor detail of being a god and all." Chuckling, he continued, "Oh, just for a bit of amusement, let's dispense with the whole 'Laughing God' thing, just between thee and me, shall we? What to call me... what to call me?"

He pondered the thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

"I know, call me Bob. Always did enjoy that one, and some rather funny tidbits that have come from the name across the times and places."

Tarna said, "Bob." She smirked. "If you say so. I can think of several other things which I might refer to you as, but I shall restrain myself on fear of unpleasantness." She smirked some more.

"Tsk, tsk, you wound me!" Bob replied without rancor, his laughter bright. "Never you mind the thought of my reacting to a good joke, even at my expense. That's neither here nor there, though, as the true game and laugh is yet to come, eh? I bet you're just _dying_ to know what it is, aren't you? Come now, admit it, it's not every day that someone gets the opportunity to pull a cosmic prank!"

"Are you sure you're not Shazmar?" Tarna said again. Then she said, "But anyway, yeah, I suppose..."

"Shazmar," Bob replied, "Sounds like I definitely need to meet this fellow when this game is done! At any rate, let's take a look at things, shall we?"

The light dimmed as a slide-projector appeared on a table next to his chair, throwing a split image of the four orbs onto a screen.

"These are what you're looking for," he said, "And you're going to have a grand time getting to them where they are, I assure you!"

Tarna peered at it intently and listened attentively. "I'm listening, go on."

"Oh, you're going to _love_ this," Bob chortled. "Each has managed to find its way into the hands of different races over time, though unsurprisingly three of the four are to be found in the Empire of Man. Curious little monkeys, those ones, never know when to leave well enough alone."

He shrugged and flipped the image with a click.

"The fourth is actually held in the Warp itself, by those crazy, nutty Dark Eldar. None of them is going to be easy to get to, you can be sure," he continued, "One laying in the ancient Dark Eldar city, one with the Blood Angels... rather violent fellows, those, even bloodthirsty one might say." He snickered. "Anyway, the third rests near the Eye itself, in the paws of the illustrious Space Wolves, specifically the ones long lost and only recently re-found." He sniffled, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. "Always was a sucker for a homecoming story." He laughed cheerfully, shedding the mask, the humor bright and nearly-feral as he added. "The fourth lays in the heart of Man's Empire itself, within the domain of their Mars Adepts. That one should be _quite_ the puzzle to obtain."

Tarna watched the images, then looked at him again and back at the screen. "You know, this is fairly cliched," she finally said.

Bob didn't bat an eye, grinning as the lights came back up and the projector vanished.

"Now why do you say something like that? One might almost think you suspected me of ulterior motives, or perhaps arranging for this entire game from the onset! Stuff and nonsense, or some other cliche to that effect." He chuckled, but watches her curiously.

Tarna snickered softly. "Now, as long as I don't have to wander around collecting a party of misfits from random races who would never in all sanity actually work together, including a brainless sidekick and a fuzzy cute thing who is completely worthless in any actual fights..."

"Ugh, perish the thought," Bob replied disgustedly, brightening discernibly at her readiness of wit. "I'd never expect such a thing, certainly not in this mad, mad world! Rare enough that they'll stop and work with each other against a common, immediate enemy, perish the thought of putting an adventuring party of such misfits together." He snorted and chuckled, "No, I'm quite content with one player, for now. Rest assured," he continued, "I won't be sending you to any of these places without some degree of preparation, or a toy or two to aid in a bit of mischief making along the way, if you're so inclined." He grinned wickedly, "Far be it from me to restrain someone's homicidal impulses when it might be of some benefit along the way, eh? Now, that tidbit aside..."

A deck of playing cards appears in his hands. Nimble fingers blur as he shuffles the deck, most likely someone you would _not_ want to play poker against, and he holds it out to her.

"Pick a card, any card."

Tarna reached out and pulled out a card at random. The remainder of the deck vanished as Tarna looks at the card, the Queen of Spades.

"Hmm, not necessarily what I would have chosen first," Bob muttered, then shrugged. "But hey, that's fate, luck, fortune, all the other things that people lay the blame on, right?"

He chuckled lightly and snapped his fingers, and Tarna felt momentarily light-headed and a swirling vertigo assaulted her senses.

As it cleared, she noticed a few things right away, the first being that she was now clad in what could only be described as a dominatrix outfit from hell, all leather and spikes, wickedly-sharp blades projecting at angles from the bracers at her forearms. The next thing she noticed was a bit more obscure, and she can't quite blame the stiletto heels for _all_ of the additional height.

Tarna blinks for a moment in confusion, glancing down at herself. "What..."

A full-length mirror appeared to reveal her state, complete from heels to elegantly-curved ears, though her confused expression is one that no Dark Eldar would be caught dead wearing. Weapons were secured at her belt, one an intricately-designed and technology-enhanced whip and the other a sharp and evil-looking pistol.

"Va-va-va-VOOM!" Bob commented, waggling his brows dramatically, "Wotta woman! Rawr." He laughed and waved it off. "Oh, I should really apologize for the surprise, but I'm not going to. You're going to need it to get the first orb, seeing as you're headed to the Dark Eldar fun-and-garden club."

Tarna coughed a bit. "Well, then, this out to be fun," she said dryly, smirking again sardonically. She peered at herself in the mirror a bit more.

"Oh indeed!" Bob agreed, leaping to his feet and pacing energetically, "Hmm, now, what do you need to know? Well, first off, let's address the matter of your dress, shall we?" He grinned over at her briefly, then continued, "They're a matriarchal lot, and they've taken it to the hilt, grinding the lesser males into the dust and taking sadism to incredible heights."

He gestured at the whip.

"That's just one example, the pain whip. Excruciating stuff, from all I've seen, and they use them in such..." He coughed. "...interesting ways. The more power a female possesses, the further their reach, of course, but I decided on something a bit more conservative rather than obvious. A little too blatant to introduce a new Lord to them without a portfolio, wouldn't you agree?"

"Right, naturally," Tarna murmured, looking a bit uneasily at the thing. "I suppose I should be glad I'm not a man, then... not that that tends to be that much of a consideration when shapeshifting is involved, at any rate, but I don't imagine most of them would like watching their genitalia suddenly disappear either..."

Bob snickered. "Oh, they go positively comatose at the idea, it's absolutely hilarious I tell you. Never mind that I'd full intention to return them to normal form or anything."

He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Anyways, yes, being female and familiar with it will prove of great advantage in this. Practice your sneer, your disdain, and you'll fit right in! Snarl like you mean it, rawr!" He chuckled, suddenly a bit quieter as he continued, "The orb they possess is, unsurprisingly, the one most-prized by Slaanesh. It resides in the temple of flesh within the very heart of their domain, spreading its corruption unnoticed for countless years now."

Reaching into a pocket, he offered her a similar sphere.

"I'll tell you now that that will cause a great deal of damage, don't be there if you decide to replace the other with it," Bob warned. "I rather suspect that before this round of the game is done, you will have no reservations in doing so."

Tarna took it and looked it over and gave a nod, and said, "No, I imagine not. From what I've heard so far, they seem to remind me a bit of someone I know..."

She thought of Jami and went to pocket it. Beltpouch it, in truth, the outfit leaving little to the imagination much less a place for pockets!

Bob looked at her with a faded smile. "That one is the one ultimately responsible for devouring the majority of my siblings and sundering dear Khaine to the cosmic winds. If you fail in any other part of the game, know that success in this one will earn you reward beyond your dreams."

He turned suddenly away, gesturing and bringing a shimmering portal into being.

"The game is ready to begin when you are, Tarna. I'll be watching with some interest."

Probably with popcorn, no less, but he didn't add that.


	6. The Slave Market

"Oh, one more thing," Bob said, just as Tarna was stepping into the portal and felt a moment of disorientation, his voice continuing in her mind's ear regardless, "Remember, sometimes the most potent weapon may be found in the mirror."

He laughed, most likely at having mimicked the enigmatic nature of his own people, and fell silent as the world which now appears around her.

The sky was the crazy, shifting kaleidoscope that she'd grown accustomed to, a much more turbulent version than what had been known in other planes. It lent tilted light and shifting shadows to the alleyway she found herself in, the buildings around her heightening the effect through alternating patterns of smooth wall and wickedly-shaped outcroppings rising at improbable and senseless angles. Faint sounds of an occupied city could be heard all around, but nothing was in the immediate vicinity to notice her nor to be of particular interest.

Tarna took a brief look around and headed on purposefully, trying to act as though she had every right to be here. She was still a bit uncomfortable wearing -- and being -- what she was at the moment, but at least she had no particular shame or embarrassment about it.

Her path led to a bazaar, a great open space at one side of the city with a landing field situated near the very rim of the land itself. Various craft of Dark Eldar design were currently parked there, all spikes and sharp angles, apparently carrying cargoes for the gathering. Dark Eldar of all descriptions swirled in masses through the various lanes, though it was clearly the females dominating in all transactions.

Brief appraising looks were all that occasionally greeted Tarna, nothing more than might be garnered from any other shopkeeper speculating at the likelihood of a prospective mark. The goods ranged from the only-faintly unusual to the outright strange, though the center attraction was apparently the acquisition of slaves brought in from various raids and guarded at a cordoned-off area near the middle.

Tarna strolled through the area, looking casually over the wares and taking only a mild interest in them as she headed through. She took a glance over the slaves as well, looking toward them appraisingly.

She wasn't the only one showing particular interest in the potential slaves, that particular commodity one which held a great value among the Dark Eldar for a variety of reasons ranging from the menial to the perverse and sadistic. The selection was overall not terribly good, consisting mainly of the sorts of normal folk you'd expect captured on any raided world, but even those would find homes before it was done.

A few were more exceptional though, one stray Eldar standing with rigid, if doomed, disdain among them and occupying a space of honor as a fairly-rare catch. The second, Tarna was surprised as some 'memory' identifies him as a Space Marine, of all things, easily distinguished by the massive build and height common to their genetically enhanced phenotype. Why she recognized them was up for speculation, of course, but not likely surprising.

Surprising, however, that the Dark Eldar had managed to keep that one alive, even now as he ignored the lashes of a pain whip and lunged at his tormentors with no sign of fear or concern for his well-being. His efforts were for nothing, though, as he dropped suddenly unconscious as a robed, staff-bearing woman marches from the crowd around them. 

She examined the specimen closely, then made a gesture that sent several armored Homunculi servitors scurrying to carry the prize off to whatever fate she had decreed. A Lord among the Dark Eldar, without a doubt.

Tarna obliquely wondered just what passed for currency around here as she watched the spectacle passively from a distance. Strangely enough for a setting that might be expected to feature haggling and exchange of currency, the transactions seemed to proceed with nothing more than subtle exchanges linked to the comparative status of those involved.

Someone of Tarna's apparent caste completed a transaction nearby with little difficulty, while another with lower standing elsewhere failed to sufficiently cow the 'merchant' and was frustrated. Overall, a most complex and bizarre arrangement, the rules of which were missing from the collage of information she recognized as being aware of.

Knowing and suspecting the nature of 'Bob', it could either be that he didn't consider it important or that he'd left it intentionally out to add a separate level of difficulty to the 'game'. Either possibility seemed equally likely, really.

The momentary distraction at the slave arena quickly smoothed over, barely a ripple in the overall flow of the bazaar. A few minutes later, however, a substantially greater disturbance arose as someone near the landing field called out an alarm. Sinuous figures rose from beyond the edge of the world, gliding on supple wings and bearing a considerable resemblance to the rays common in many worlds' seas.

Smaller figures were packed onto their backs and leap out onto the field as the creatures passed, flame gouting from their mouths to score the craft parked there. It would appear that while the Dark Eldar might carry some similar inclinations to the hordes of Chaos, Tzeentch at least had no great fondness for them and had sent a gift of Screamers and Flamers to disrupt their dark festivities.

Tarna decided it probably prudent to vacate the immediate vicinity and saw about getting on with what she was supposed to be doing. She didn't especially care if these beings killed one another, but didn't care to get caught in the crossfire if she could possibly help it.

She wasn't the only one to think along those terms, the majority of the 'valiant' citizens moving _away_ from the call to arms in a surge, the crush of bodies less than might be expected due to the agile nature of the race. The forward momentum crashed into a wall, however, as a phalanx of Homunculi appeared on the scene and begin to move toward the site of intrusion.

Their commander paid little heed to those of the troop who opened fire on those getting in the way as they attempted to flee the scene, in fact gunning one such down himself. The progress of the unit was comparable to juggernaut, relentless and uncaring, another element entirely breaking around them and proceeding with considerably more energy and utterly ignoring the crowd. Wyches, bloodthirsty and readily called crazed for battle.

While the Homunculi might be considered the standard foot-soldier of an army, the reckless abandon of the Wyches was much closer to the elite ranks of the berserker, their sharp blades flashing now and again as their bounding passage was briefly interrupted by one foolhardy enough to stand in the way. They had only one thing on their minds, ripping into the intruders, and anything else was merely an obstacle.

The assault force bestowed by Tzeentch, on the other hand, seemed content at the moment to lay waste to the vehicles and the pilots foolhardy enough to attempt to man them for the moment.

Tarna grumbled a bit in irritation as she tried to get relatively out of the way, checking quickly to see if she had some sort of ranged weapon on her and uttering something fairly impolite with regards to Tzeentch.

Tarna found that the best possible place to be at the moment, other than elsewhere entirely that is, turned out to be hiding among some of the stone outcroppings that served as furnishings for the slave arena. They were comfortably solid and likely to absorb the stray blast of energy, and provided cover from the lunatic forces cutting a bloody swath from either direction.

A side effect to that was that she had a relatively clear view of the battle as it unfolds. The Wyches lived up to their name, dodging and weaving through the Chaos minions with seeming magical abandon, ripping bloody trenches in the sides of the larger Screamers and bringing a few of them down in short order. The Homunculi focused on the Flamers at the fringes of the battle, both groups familiar with the creatures and their tendency to explode.

The battle was nearing its end when Tarna saw furtive movement nearby, the Eldar rising from concealment and giving her one hateful glare before sprinting _toward_ the battle. His bonds might not allow for him to do anything to his equally hated enemies, but they didn't hamper his ability to try and get in the path of one of the giant mantas...

From her relative cover, Tarna proceeded to shoot out at the attackers, cursing Tzeentch with a fairly personal vehemence. But the minute she spotted the movement and caught the Eldar's glare, she tried to tep to him, "Wait! Damnit!" She leapt to her feet.

The Wyches and Homunculi being otherwise preoccupied, either didn't notice or paid no heed to further within the circle of the largely cleared bazaar and the few beings remaining scattered throughout it. Chaos was much more prevalent in their attention at the moment, though the intruder numbers are rapidly diminishing with each passing moment.

Her attempt at contact went unanswered and seemingly to no effect, as the Eldar saw nothing save another of his dark kin and only lengthened his stride. He cursed the Laughing God with a snarl as a stone outcropping seemed to rise in his path, wholly unseen, and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Tarna leapt over toward where he had fallen, still shooting toward the attackers, and tepped again, "Oh, for love of Bob. Listen. Stay with me, I'll get you out of here. Somehow."

The last of the Flamers was struck by one of her shots, the small pistol actually packing a greater damage potential than she might expect of such a tiny weapon and burning a hole deep into the creature. It vomited flame as it died, the globules of viscous fire licking out to engulf the final surviving Screamer which lived up to its descriptive title as it also succumbed to death.

All that remained of the Chaos forces were splattered, ichorous lumps of twisted flesh, the surviving Wyches and Homunculi making sure of their demise with brutal efficiency. The Eldar spat an epithet at her in disgust, not yet separating mental and vocal contact, and awkwardly struggled to rise.

Tarna looked at him disdainfully, but her mental voice was far from matching the look on her face. "Trust me. Please. I'm not what I appear to be." In an attempt to calm him and reassure him, she sent him images of the interior of Ulthwe.

Hatred melted to a mixture of disbelief and confusion as the images cascaded through the Eldar's mind. He had seen that specific Craftworld in times past while serving as a Guardian, though it was not his home, what would one of the Dark Eldar know of it? The hesitation was sufficient to allow for some semblance of 'normalcy' to return to the world around them, the warriors of the city departing as quickly as they'd come.

A Dark Eldar male that Tarna vaguely recognized as having seen working around the slave arena appeared suddenly, his wares far too valuable to have allowed him to flee along with the waves of the other.

"My gratitude, Mistress," he offered with obvious deference, "It would have been a pity for this one to have escaped."

The Eldar, realizing his moment of opportunity had past, bared his teeth in a snarl at them. He didn't move, however, recognizing the futility of doing so now when there was no hope whatsoever of earning his escape into death.

Tarna didn't bother putting away her weapon just yet. She looked over at him and said, "This one is mine." She gave him a look that said she wasn't about to take no for an answer.

The merchant reacted with some surprise to her opening of the bartering in such abrupt fashion, his eyes narrowing speculatively and suspiciously about the true motives resting behind her actions.

"Surely you would find something else more appealing, Mistress," he replied in a wheedling tone, not certain that he might not be better served with another 'buyer', "This one will doubtless require a great deal of trouble to be useful."

"Oh, I'm sure I can handle him," she said, grinning at him evilly.

His eyes flickered to the still-drawn pistol and the pain whip readily to hand, the gaze darting for any sign of assistance to reinforce him against the sudden unease brought about by her dominant stance. Finding nothing to bolster his rapidly vanishing resolve, he merely bowed.

"As you wish, Mistress. Allow me to assign a proper control collar and he is yours."

She nodded to him and allowed him to do so, putting the weapon away.

The merchant wasted no time securing a collar about the unresisting Eldar's neck, its skin intricately patterned with lighted circuitry. He extended a small box with a control pad on it to her, not deigning to explain it as such would be expected to be readily understood by those of sufficient station.

"If you are pleased," he salvaged what he may of oily dignity, "then remember to speak of me to your sisters."

Tarna took it and nodded to him with a flicker of a grin, then turned to the Eldar and tepped, "Trust me. I'll get you out of here. I swear it." Aloud she just snapped, "Come," and headed out.

Clearly not entirely happy, but sufficiently respectful as to not warrant direct correction, the merchant bowed once more and then returned to check upon his remaining wares. Overall not a terrible day, all told, his two best acquired by those of at least sufficient rank and prestige to boost his own by a few degrees.

The Eldar followed her command wordlessly, her telepathic communication meeting resistance now as he regained some measure of equilibrium and determination to not remain a plaything of his enemies. Things were, for the most part, quite black and white in this universe and upon its outskirts, and little remained for the narrow swath of gray between.

Tarna headed off, having no bloody idea just where it was that she was going, but she was not about to let _that_ on. And she was certainly a lot more nervous thans he was willing to let on as well.

She tepped to him quietly, "My name is Tarna." Even if she didn't show it, the nervousness was quite clear in her mental voice.

He offered no resistance, for now, fully aware of the futility of it at the moment and waiting for later opportunity. The Eldar were quite familiar with their dark kin and their ways, and the harsh brutal reality of their world did not allow for anything save rigid resistance. Pale eyes were certainly watchful, however, as they passed along the boulevards of the city. Places of entertainment were quite prolific near the bazaar, as might be expected.

Their array of services offered and advertised range from the mundane, such as places to sleep and drink, to the extreme of live sex and torture shows. They did not seem the least shy about displaying samples of the delights to be found within, the Dark Eldar as a whole reveling in the long-spawned anarchy and madness of the Warp.

She continued on, carefully masking whatever might be going on in her head. At least outwardly.

"God, I hate this place," Tarna tepped. "I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else! And I want to be out of this damned costume and wearing something... decent."

Her disgust touched the fringes of his mind and surprise weakened his instinctive shielding enough that he caught the majority of that, a look of speculative uncertainty turning to study her with quiet intensity. He was familiar with the Seer and Farseer powers to do such, and the unlikely possibility of transmitting such simple and undisguised loathing as anything but truth. It gave him something to think upon.

"Perhaps," he remarked with manifest reluctance, "You might seek a place to rest."

Curiosity dragged it from him, though not without a spark of purpose-serving cunning as such solitude would needfully allow a possibility for action.

"Don't know what else to do," she tepped with a mental sigh, although she'd be perfectly happy to get off the streets for a moment and away from all this and try to talk to him more in private.

She proceeded to look about for an inn or something. Finding a place to stay was simple enough, whether she chose a more quiet locale or a place catering to overflow from the more rambunctious clubs. For the former, the district seemed to quiet and melt into a more mundane residential area a bit further along. If she'd been inclined toward the latter, it was certain to be simple indeed to merely walk into one of the fleshpits and find a room by the hour.

Tarna tried to find somewhere relatively quiet and private, not even really caring to hear all the 'rambunctious' stuff going on at the moment.

The slightly more-distant establishments seemed to be the way to go, then, incidentally having a smaller chance of encountering patrons intoxicated on any number of things along the way as well. Her apparent status was sufficient to obtain private quarters without difficulty, and obsequious invitation to call if anything is needed. The proprietor's expression smirkingly doubted that interruptions would be appreciated, however.

Tarna didn't dissuade the suggestion of the implications of just what it was they thought she meant to do, and headed back to her room, inwardly grateful at the chance to relax for a moment.


	7. Melaran Sadron

Basic hostel accommodations in any universe were largely the same, plain of decor and essentially guided by functionality. The greatest advantage, in this case, was that it was quiet and not besieged by masses of Dark Eldar lurking in the corners.

She certainly noticed the stiffened rigidity of her 'slave' at the suggestion made by the proprietor, but he remained silently aloof as the door closed behind them. After making sure the door was locked, she went over and let out a ragged sigh, burying her face in her hands.

The Eldar's eyes narrowed as the door locked, but he did nothing for the moment as she moved away, still mindful of the collar even though his hands might now be bound. A choice would have to be made, but he was uncertain just at this moment what game his 'owner' was playing, if she was playing one at all. He could trust nothing at the moment, beyond the certainty he would not return alive and whole to his Craftworld again.

Tarna went to take a seat somewhere, trying to force some of the tension out. "Hate this place so much..." she mumbled. "I'll be more than happy to be gone from here once I'm done here..."

The Eldar sunk into a crouch, studying her thoughtfully, searching for any sign of deception. He was no Farseer to look into the soul of another, but it would seem that she was being truthful, but...

"I do not understand," he said quietly, watchful, "You say you loathe this land and yet it is kith and kin to you. Why? Unless it is simply ruse and shadow."

Tarna snorted softly, gesturing at her attire. "It's not. I'd never in a thousand years _choose_ to wear something like this. And I've never been here before in my life, and never hope to come here again, either."

He frowned lightly. "Then why are you here, if not from another Warp-tainted den of the dark kin? Surely no Craftworld would be so mad as to send one of its own to seek to infiltrate here." He pauses and shook his head. "At least Iyanden would not, in certainty."

"I was sent here on a, erm, 'quest', by a certain deity with a strange sense of humor," Tarna murmured quietly. "And I'd very much like to do what I came here to do and leave."

"Quest? Deity with a strange..." he replied with confusion, then winced suddenly at the implication. "That One has tasked you with something here? Legion are the tales of the Harlequins' devotion and madness, but I would have believed even they would not be so lost to reason as to attempt something as this!"

"Every bloody second I'm here I think somebody's going to catch on and start shooting at me," Tarna muttered. "It's taken all my discipline and self-control to make it this far, and I don't even know where to go next. I barely even know what I'm looking for!"

"I fear I may aid you little in that," he replied with a sigh.

He motioned to the tattered remnants of the shipsuit his captors had left him with as a typically sadistic ploy that it might be used as a psychological scourge later.

"I am obviously no more familiar with this land than you are, other than having faced its denizens upon varied fields of battle," he said. "Would that it were within my power to do so, I do not envy your plight."

"No, I don't expect you could, really," Tarna murmured. "But I couldn't just leave you to the hands of these... these... disgusting..." She cut off a string of expletives and rubbed her head a bit.

"You have my gratitude in that," he said softly, "What I may do I certainly shall, I swear it. Such a place is anathema to the Eldar, yet still may I find some measure of redemption by assisting in some manner upon the mad quest set before you. Better by far, than death in distant lands without purpose."

He finishes on a note that is strangely mixed of melancholy resignation and a soldier's simple and irrefutable determination.

Tarna mused pensively. "Maybe if I could find a map or something, I should be able to... hmmm..." She broke off her train of thought and glanced up at him. "What's your name?"

"Melaran Sadron," he replied with considerable poise, his rise and formal bow seeming wholly out of place in the setting and yet perfectly natural for him. "And I would be glad of the name of she who served to deliver me from the most recent of my misfortunes..." he prompted, straightening and arching a single elegant brow in query.

"Tarna Tanson," she replied, looking over at him and giving him a nod.

"Tarna Tanson," he mused, the name seeming odd on his tongue, but shuttered the idle thought aside for the moment as he crosses to settle onto the edge of a sea. "What, then, is the object of your quest? What intelligence were you given prior to its undertaking?" If any at all, considering the source of quest and presumed origin. "Perhaps in this might be found some glimmer of the path which may be pursued."

Tarna summarized what he'd told her about this part of it.

Mulling the recollection, Melaran replied thoughtfully, "Finding this temple should be no great feat, in truth. I suspect that they are not so far from some very basic tenets of design from their origins and would construct such a facility within the very heart of their land. It would likely not--" he smirked faintly, "--be quite such a simple task to gain entry to the halls within which might hold what you seek."

"Well, I've done plenty of stupider things in my lifetime," Tarna said dryly, but didn't bother to elaborate on that. "At least in this case nobody's shooting at me yet. So far so good, right?"

"A sufficient definition of a successful exercise in infiltration, yes," Melaran agreed with a faint chuckle. "And now you must only find that path, continue your charade, and gain access to the heart of this tainted land. A simple enough task for a follower of that One, I'm sure," he finished with a bemused shake of his head.

"I'm not..." She shook her head a bit. "Oh, Abyss with it. Now, what about you? Hmm..."

"You're not... what, Tarna Tanson?" Melaran prodded lightly, "I know full well that I am a Guardian of Craftworld Iyanden, warrior and defender of the Eldar race, and no matter that I am lost to that home of the soul for now as it shall always be here." He touched his chest. "What, then, are you or are you not certain of or claiming affiliation to? Hesitation in even small things may bring death when Chaos walks."

"I'm not precisely a follower of that particular deity," Tarna muttered reluctantly. "In fact, I'm not exactly an Eldar at all. Erm. Regardless of what I might look like at the moment. This might sound a bit absurd, but I'm not even from this universe at all."

"Why does this bring hesitation, then?" Melaran asked bluntly.

The revelation was perhaps odd, but not beyond the bounds of the bizarre that the Laughing God was known to be capable of from time to time, and actually clarified some curiosity as to her unfamiliar mannerisms.

"The Prankster is always an element of the random," Melaran said, "and thus in ill favor with the greater part of the Eldar, yet never has he stood against the soul of what we are. I am inclined to believe that such a jest would be his subtle hand at work in some even grander one, but I am also of the belief that he has chosen someone of merit to pursue it. You need not have acted in my regard, Tarna Tanson, and yet you did. That speaks well of your soul, particularly in this universe of madness and unending war."

"This universe is crazy, I'll give you that," Tarna muttered. "And Chaos has come and invaded _my_ universe now. And my home was always, well, crazy in a different manner." She smirked. "But it was comparatively peaceful. There were even actually periods of time in which large quantities of people weren't actively attempting to kill one another."

"Are we mad for wishing to survive, or surviving simply because we are mad?" Melaran chuckled lightly, his demeanor gradually easing. "If you are only now seeing the effects which the Foul Gods inflict, then you are fortunate indeed as we have suffered their vile touch for longer than I remember, and my youth is centuries past. Does not the concept of their evil bring a desire to combat it in the interest of simply being the 'right' thing?"

"That we did not know that particular evil does not mean we did not have our own evils, of course," Tarna murmured. "And I think I've put up with one or another for far too long. Right? Hmm..."

Tarna pondered for a moment, and realized for how long those concepts had been alien to her. And realized that at some point, she somehow had ended up no longer being a demon. She blinked for a moment in startlement at that realization.

"Someone once told me that even a soldier must know the right of things, to seek within his own heart to answer questions that could otherwise lead to the grip of Chaos," Melaran said quietly. "Fight for nothing save the pleasure of it, or the blind obedience of orders, and inevitably shall you fall prey to the Blood God or worse."

He offered a palm-up 'shrug', memories still fresh of recent events.

"Even the Gods of this world, while acting in ways which are often beyond our ken, show some inclination to one side of that question or the other," Melaran said.

"It's been so long since I ever even had a moment to really think about it without being pulled along to one thing or another against my will." Tarna's voice sounded oddly distant and thoughtful.

Settling back in the seat with languid ease, Melaran looked at her quietly for a long moment before speaking again, "And what of this, then, has you so suddenly lost to thought, Tarna Tanson? Musing upon distant places and times, or something of more immediate concern? We are, at present, in as peaceful a location as might be obtained in this dark place, it may aid your spirit to ponder what concerns you."

Tarna replied quietly, with some reluctance, "I can't say that I have always walked the path of what you might call good and right. I once fell into the trap of Chaos myself against my will. I can only be glad that there are those of my people who discovered a way to cleanse that taint." She stared at the floor.

Melaran mulled that over, the immediate innate response at declaration of Chaos taint blunted by his own recent experience and debt to her. Never had he heard of such a thing being possible, and yet he could not immediately dismiss it out of hand. Instead, he turned away from the thornier side of reaction with some difficulty to focus on the more 'practical' side of the matter.

"If true, then a decision obviously was made which provided and escape from the labyrinthine maze of darkness which the soul may find itself trapped within. That is... something in which you may hold pride, Tarna Tanson, and indeed that which must be admired. I might only wish that greater numbers might find it within themselves to turn aside from those blacker paths."

"Well, I can't claim it was entirely my decision at the time, as I wasn't really in much of a state to be thinking clearly," Tarna commented. "Though I must say I much prefer my thoughts to be my own. No, I went along with it willingly enough, but I figured if I didn't I'd get shot at. By one of your folks, I believe he was."

"Not wholly surprising," Melaran replied evenly enough, without apology. "We Eldar are, for the greater part and certainly within Iyanden, at a considerable disadvantage against those owing allegiance to the Foul Gods. With millennia of such conflict behind us, is it truly any wonder that our reactions are stringent and often violent when faced with that which would gladly destroy us with a moment's hesitation?"

He nods to indicate her, smiling thinly.

"Were it not for the circumstances of our meeting," Melaran went on, "I too would have found myself constrained by those same reflexes. We live in a dangerous universe, Tarna Tanson, as you have glimpsed in this place."

"Yes, I could hardly blame him, under the circumstances," Tarna chuckled softly. "Hmm, what was his name? Dolen, I think it was..." She looked off thoughtfully.

Melaran just looked at her blankly for a moment, then asked simply, "Dolen Ista?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Hmm," Melaran snorted lightly, shaking his head. "Then it would appear that I was not the sole member of that ill-fated expedition to be misplaced beyond all reason. I am not displeased to hear of it."

He inclined his head to her formally, a quiet smile emerging.

"It would seem I am indebted to you for bringing a moment of gladness to the heart as well, Tarna Tanson."

"You know him?" Tarna said. "Well, last I saw him he was alive and well, if a bit far from home." She chuckled softly.

"Yes, I know him," Melaran replied, "It was he who commanded the unit which I found myself separated from some time past and led through a series of misfortune to bring me here. It would seem that his occasional homage to the Prankster did not go wholly unnoticed, and I cannot say whether that is reassuring or ill-favored indeed." He chuckled softly.

Tarna grinned a bit. "Well. I can't say I'm sorry for having complied at any rate. And now... I'll rather choose to do what's right."

"I have found it much simpler to do so," Melaran replied, "Better by far than following the opposite path and finding the ghosts which haunt you to be aided by your own conscience."

He fell thoughtfully silent for a moment.

"The Prankster may not find full favor amongst the Eldar, yet in this gamble of chance will I readily thank him. To find paths crossed in such a manner, while the road behind may have been less than pleasant, is indeed something to be grateful of, Tarna Tanson," he finished softly.

Tarna smiled for a moment, and said, "I don't think I could have forgiven myself if I hadn't intervened." She sighed. "So, now, how do you suppose we're gonna get you home?"

"I am less concerned with that," Melaran replied, leaving his already-spoken gratitude unsaid further for now, "than that which has brought our paths together, Tarna Tanson. I would suspect that the Prankster has done nothing without forethought, and the pursuit of your quest may well lead to the other."

Survival assuming, he mused wryly, not something he could ever take for granted.

"Regardless, I feel compelled to do what I may to further your own stated destination that your own path might diverge from the quixotic whims of that One. I might..." he paused, looking at her with deliberate care and sparing no detail. "To continue as your slave might serve, yet where a slave might not pass a servant of that blood may. To add another facet to the charade may prove of value."

"I don't want to take you into greater danger than you are already in, but I would welcome the assistance if you're willing to help me..." Tarna said slowly.

"If you will allow it," Melaran replied, "then so shall it be until no longer wished for or fate decrees else. Danger..." He chuckled softly, "That is not something unknown or readily-avoided for anyone who steps upon the Guardian's Path. It would, in truth, be my honor and pleasure to serve."

He might not be able to accurately predict all actions of his dark kin, but at least there was some distant blood which might serve well.

Tarna bowed her head to him and said, "I'd be happy to have you along, then."

Melaran answered the nod with formal grace, then asked with a quirked grin, "What part would you of me then, Tarna Tanson? That of beaten and broken Eldar thrall? Or perhaps one of their own subservient males? I have observed enough of them that I might likely play the part, either way. I leave it to you to decide which might better serve your purpose."

"If you think you can manage the latter," Tarna murmured. "But how?"

"The only difficulty remains in that regard as to attire and..." Melaran indicated the collar with a faint grimace of distaste, "This. Our dark cousins are not so long removed from the Eldar that I would not readily pass for them in appearance, the similarity of grace and elegance evident in the form which you yourself bear. A challenge it shall be to overcome and restrain reflex, but I believe it to be possible."

Tarna gave a short nod. "Hmm, that part should be readily dealt with, I think, but where to find the 'clothes'? Meh, I wish I were as good as Azale at scrying and teleportation..."

She looked about the room on the off chance something might present itself. The room itself didn't present much in the way of options, save the comm unit sparking the memory of the smarmy hostel proprietor below.

It would likely not be difficult at all to arrange for appropriate attire from that venue, with the proper approach. Considering their attitude, the clothing acquired would likely be of a sort that would blend in seamlessly here, if no more concealing than her own. Tarna had no idea how she might manage that without sounding suspicious. She did, however, mull over the possibility.

Melaran idly tapped his fingers on his knee, pondering the problem, then offered the familiar hand-shrug.

"They are beneath your apparent status, it would seem, or they would likely have been greater difficulty in arranging accommodations here," Melaran said. "To delve into their process of thought is distasteful, yet useful in this, merely communicate your wishes without explanation. Rank and social status often attain the same unquestioning results."

Tarna sighed and silently prayed to whoever might care, and proceeded to call up the request. It was a little disturbing how quickly her voice changed from one moment to the next as she slipped back into her role.

The proprietor didn't answer the comm, having likely gone off for the night or headed to another pursuit, Tarna instead finding a male servitor at her disposal. This actually simplified matters quite a bit, as there was not the faintest hint of condescension or challenge in the male's attitude, quite servile and helpful in fact and arrangements are readily made in short order.

Melaran watches the transaction from off-screen, frowning faintly in distaste but said nothing until the connection is severed.

"This shall certainly be an exercise in playing a role, Tarna Tanson," he remarked blandly, "No part of our society would ever subvert their own personality so merely for 'status'. As it must be done, however, so shall it be done."

"I don't understand it in the slightest and don't really want to," Tarna said, restraining the urge to spit. "Even if some parts of it are similar to the way the Elkandu do some things, they're for very different reasons and others are vastly different."

"Society and the manner which you interact with it are significant factors for us all, Tarna Tanson," Melaran replied in subdued fashion, "Just as I may have reacted differently in other settings, it would take a great deal to shake the foundations of what that one has likely endured through his existence. I find the ideal repugnant, but cannot blame such a one wholly when there are equally-repressive regimes elsewhere."

Tarna nodded absently, and murmured, "I suppose it's not a wonder, really, that Torn Elkandu fell so readily to Chaos. And in their case, it was a strict hierarchy based around magical power."

"Such strict delineations and power-hoarding structures are ever the tools and means of Chaos," Melaran replied grimly, "Were it not for the lifelong regime of self-discipline and meditation instilled in the Eldar, we too would fall readily to them as so long ago."

Tarna sighed and rubbed her head. "Things seem so hopeless sometimes, you know. There's few enough of the Elkandu, and fewer still who aren't invariably corrupted..."

Melaran smiled faintly, both melancholy and sadly wistful. "We of Iyanden know of failing numbers and dwindling population, Tarna Tanson," he said softly, "Some do indeed fall into the dark despair which inevitably leads to inaction and retreat into memories of the past, and yet..."

He shook the melancholy off with visible effort, his voice firm.

"Where there is yet life," Melaran continued, "there is reason to fight and continue to preserve what remains. Never surrender hope, in that direction you find only the damnation of the Warp waiting eagerly to devour your very soul. Strange to hear from a soldier? Merely obeying orders and flying from battle to battle? Even in this, is hope born, for activity in the path of what must be done for the greater 'right' will ultimately bring greater peace to the soul even should it prove to be for aught in your time."

Tarna shook her head a bit. "They're no different. They're no different! Why did I not see this before? Everyone's a lackey to somebody else. The strong ones sit around in their basements and get drunk and get whatever they want. The weak ones end up constantly running errands for one person or another who happens to be stronger than them. They sit around and are constantly making things and doing things for those stronger than them. In Torn Elkandu they listen to loud terrible music constantly and have orgies in the streets!"

Tarna buried her face in her hands. Melaran frowns deeply and rises, crossing to crouch beside Tarna.

"Be at ease, Tarna Tanson," he said gently, touching her hands with a light brush of fingertips. "This too shall pass, as it always must with the ages. You speak of horrors which are intimately familiar to me, and I say that the Foul Gods cannot, in the end, prevail. So long as ones such as you are willing to stand against them, their tide shall ebb once more."

Tarna sighed softly and lowered her hand, giving a bit of a nod. "I'll... yeah... alright..."

Melaran studied her in silence for a moment, then went on with a quiet smile, "From your own words, your universe has been largely peaceful, and that shall aid your cause greatly. At the least you do not possess races which will only deign to communicate with each other when faced by a common foe, elsewise at each others' throats and allowing the dark evil to slither unchecked in the Warp around them."

It was a brutal, but honest assessment, and one that could readily lead to a retreat into melancholy of his own, but he firmly dismisses the inclination.

"Even here," Melaran went on, "Chaos cannot stand against the combined or even individual wrath of those willing to fight it for long. Imagine what might happen in your own world, to see Chaos soundly defeated when such as you unite readily to achieve greater works!"

"No, not such as that," Tarna said. "There's different races, yes, but an Elkandu is still an Elkandu regardless of what species they happen to be. Since an Elkandu can get reborn as any race, they tend to learn fairly quickly to ignore that. But they abuse the mensch, the ones who aren't Elkandu and don't have their mental powers..."

"More the fools they, then," Melaran replied quietly, unmoving, "It is the heart of the people that cuts out the heart of Chaos, not simply its greatest champions. When Chaos finds no meat to add to its unholy engine, where then is _their_ power? Such lessons may only be learned with time, yet they must be inevitably learned to stem the never-ending destructive cycle. One soul at a time, Tarna Tanson, that is all that each my save."

Tarna closed her eyes and said quietly, "'To save one soul is to save the entire world.' ... Where have I heard that before?"

Melaran chuckled softly. "I have heard philosophic variants upon the theme in many times and places, it is quite often an answer that even the greatest among us has reached. This simple truth matters more than grand schemes ever may, in the end, for it is truly the soul which matters. What power may rise from it? May it indeed be the one which shakes aside the ashes of death and bursts into flame to scour the blight fully at last? Of such questions do even simple soldier ponder in the darkest depths of night, when despair might else be their only companion."

He finished quietly, humor faded and yet not transformed to the melancholy which might be expected.

Tarna stared off thoughtfully. "The Elkandu fought a war over me. Over who would control me. Because I had some interesting abilities they wanted to use, and I wasn't strong enough to resist them. It wasn't really a pleasant situation to end up in."

"No, I would suppose that would not be," Melaran replied with a look of puzzlement. "Why would they battle each other for this, when allegiance and willful aid are ever more powerful bonds in the end than anything which might be forced upon you? Have they not learned the simplest truth that there is nothing so dangerous as 'controlling' against their will something which might one day turn against them?"

"Brainwashing. Mind control. Mental blocks against doing anything to harm them," Tarna said. "The higher-up Elkandu telepaths are _quite_ good at what they do. If they wanted, they could completely rewrite your mind to make you think you were something else entirely..."

Melaran frowned disdainfully. "Just so do the priests of the Empire of Man believe, thinking to control the vast masses of the humans beneath them by whatever means they consider expedient. They too have failed to learn, despite seeing the consequences... from those masses come the greater part of the reinforcements for Chaos in this universe. Hubris, beyond mention."

"Being an inborn dreamwalker, they wanted to control me... And being a telepath myself, only a stronger telepath could hope to do so reliably. Dreamwalking is, I think, a lot more reliable of an ability back home than it is here, sadly..."

"And what is this dreamwalking," Melaran asked curiously. "Beyond perhaps its obvious meaning, at any rate, that they might wish to go to such foolish lengths to control it?"

"Well, in my universe, there's a thing we call the Dreamworld, or the Ethereal Plane. It's roughly equivalent to the Warp in this universe, but from as far as I can tell, a good deal calmer and easier to control. A dreamwalker has the innate ability to walk through this place and go to any world they want, observe reality without chance of detection, hide deep within it so that nobody can find them, stronger ones can even alter the features of the Dreamworld itself and the worlds contained within it..."

"I am not certain I would wish such an ability here, Tarna Tanson," Melaran replied with an involuntary shudder and rose slowly. "Though the power might indeed be great, the dangers are beyond comprehension to traverse the Warp without exceeding caution. I pray you not use this ability, or have need of it here, else even the Prankster might be long and long in finding what remained of your soul and sanity."

"Hence why I have thus far limited my use of it to short-distance teleportation when absolutely necessary. That alone was enough to give me a hint that the 'Warp' here is not a friendly place. Although as the alternative at the time was being ripped apart by Tyranids, well..."

"Err yes, well," Melaran agreed, "One might see the usefulness of it in such an instance. They are not the most pleasant of foes in this place, though perhaps not truly on the same scale of 'evil' which Chaos might be considered. The Warp Spiders are examples of a Path which uses technology to produce a similar short-range effect, though, and their losses to the Warp are not all that uncommon."

"Yeah..." She sighed. "Back at home, the Dreamworld was like a pleasant pool, calm and quiet, and pretty unpopulated. At any given moment, there were probably no more than a hundred beings in the Dreamworld itself, though there'd probably be a good deal more on the worlds in the Deep Ethereal. I kind of miss the place..."

"You shall see it again, Tarna Tanson," Melaran replied with quiet certitude. "The Prankster will tire of his play eventually and return you from whence you came, and will surely watch over you in the meantime." He chuckled lightly, "I would only worry upon the idea of proving too entertaining to that One, lest he never tire and let you escape."

Tarna snickered softly. "You know, we've got one just like him back at home. That one took an overly bit of interest in me, too."

"It would seem the concept is designed integrally into the cosmic balance," Melaran replied with a small grin. "Perhaps a cosmic joke of sorts upon us lesser beings, that we might be glad of the peace and tranquility otherwise enjoyed. In truth, though, it would seem the very nature of such beings to turn to other pursuits in time. You need only survive the jest until then!"

"I'll not complain too overly much, at any rate," Tarna said, rubbing her eyes a bit and wondering where those clothes were.


	8. A Masterful Disguise

As though by the magic of fortuitous timing, the door chime sounded just then and the levity of the moment vanished from the Eldar as he moved quickly out of sight and gestured a hand at the door. Tarna went to the door to answer it. The male she'd spoken to earlier waited patiently at the door as she answered, offering a bow and a tied bundle to her.

"Your order, Mistress. Is there anything else this one may do to serve?"

She took it and glanced over it and said, "Excellent. This will suffice for now. Move along now."

The servitor began to turn away as he was dismissed and the door closed, no further commentary forthcoming as he was quite well-trained. She headed back inside and closed the door again.

The package was readily opened and revealed clothing which would seem to fit quite well in the theme of what she wore but in male cut and with a few additions; two different optional leather hoods and a spiked or D-ringed collar and lead to be precise. Tarna looked it over distastefully, making a bit of a face at it.

"Well, here we go..." She then went to see if she could remove the collar on Melaran's neck.

Melaran looked the 'wardrobe' over with varying degrees of distaste and alarm, re-thinking his ability to play the role in this... this... He shuddered and left them sitting on a chair for now, knowing that he _would_ do so, but not glad of the prospect. The removal of the slave collar, however, was of considerable interest to him. 

"I would hope that you are familiar with this?" he asked doubtfully, the runes on the device seeming vaguely reminiscent of the Eldar and yet mutated over time to questionable purpose.

"Nope, not in the least," Tarna said brightly, peering over the thing.

The control device was likely of a standard design here, which would lead to no end of questions if they were to seek help in the matter regardless of where they might look. Melaran studied the glyphs pensively, trying to discern some sort of meaning in them and finally sighed.

"Two would seem of potential use, if the meaning of the runes is even close to what I believe..." He trails off into silence, then continued with a weak grin, "Unfortunately, the closest I may come is Release or Death for either, not precisely comforting choices."

"Oh, that's helpful." Tarna rolled her eyes. "And I don't think anyone will kindly let me read their mind to figure it out either."

"Unlikely," Melaran replied unhelpfully, "And as they are distant kin their resistance to unwanted psychic intrusion is much alike that of the Eldar." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "We do not have a great deal of choice in the matter, however, and I would sooner find a quick death at your hand than the one which would have awaited me elsewhere. Choose and trust to fate, Tarna Tanson."

"I'll prefer to at least try my oh-so-neat mental abilities first at least," Tarna said dryly. "Azale's better at precision-teleportation, but over such a short distance I might be able to manage it..."

"No," Melaran replied quietly, stepping to face her. "Do not risk yourself on my behalf. Your risk in this is great enough and has already increased by aiding another beyond your quest. I am still a soldier, mindful of duty and obligation, and could not conscience allowing you to endanger yourself further for a choice which may be mine."

"Well, no, I'd say it's a much greater risk to you than me, as I'm not gonna try teleporting _myself_. Though I doubt with a low-power weave I'd manage to rip your head off by accident or something..."

Melaran chuckled softly and bowed to her, "My humblest apologies, Mistress, I had mistaken your intent in this. Proceed at your leisure, then, if you believe the danger is sufficiently less than random chance."

He straightened and stepped back, settling into an informal attention with his chin tilted slightly upward.

Tarna said, "Well, I'm good enough at it that I think there's a better than 50-50 chance at bad things happening at least..."

Tarna took a deep breath and settles in and concentrates on it, and rolled the dice. The effort with the alien technology was not simple, and Tarna worked at it a bit without immediate effect, but the metal collar soon disappeared with an audible sound akin to a spring. It reappeared instantly a mere centimeter from Melaran's throat and he snatched it as it began to fall.

"It would appear to have worked," he murmured, unconsciously reaching up to rub at the place it had recently occupied. 

Tarna breathed a sigh of relief and slumped a bit. "Yeah... I guess they didn't really anticipate people being able to do things quite like that when they made them, did they. Similar devices used by the Elkandu tend to be more restrictive, with more safeguards against such things."

"Indeed," Melaran replied, setting the repulsive collar on a bedside table. "Though I suspect the difference lies primarily in the nature of the location. Where would an escaped slave truly go in such a dire place? It would require the aid of another for success, and the likelihood of such an occurrence is improbable enough that the Prankster himself might shy away from the gamble."

"Yeah... the worst the Elkandu use -- the demons, really -- are demonsteel handcuffs. They even go so far as prevent you from channeling or even seeking. Nasty things..."

She didn't stop to think that he probably doesn't know what she means by 'channeling' or 'seeking'. Channeling he readily understood, the process quite familiar on many levels for the Eldar, but 'seeking' he could only begin to guess at and he began to ask about it then sighed, recognizing his inclination for what it was.

"If it please you, Mistress," Melaran replied with semi-credible servility, "I should bathe and then see to my..." his concentration was broken and he made a face of disgust as he finished, "...wardrobe."

"Do you have any suggestions or preference regarding the, ahh, accessories?" he asked, a faint tinge of color at his eartips the only sign of his discomfort.

"Nope. I couldn't begin to tell you what these depraved weirdos might consider fashionable. Nor care, either," Tarna muttered.

The Eldar vanished without further word with the 'clothing' into the bathroom, apparently availing himself of a shower as the sound of water is heard. One might wonder about the availability of such trivial things in an isolated world, but then that would require considering all the myriad and bizarre concepts associated with the Warp that would be guaranteed to incite a raging headache.

Tarna didn't wonder. She was used to being able to imagine an entire landscape around her back at home, anyway. She took a moment to relax and meditate, or something vaguely resembling such, while he did that.

Melaran emerged a bit later, wearing what apparently passed as suitable male servitor wear in this place and looking like nothing so much as an escapee from an S&M movie back in Elkandu. Leather straps and a thong, plus thin knee-high boots, though he apparently decided to forego the use of one of the hoods and seemed unsure as he emerged as to which of the collars to choose.

"I would suppose each would have a separate meaning or purpose," Melaran remarked, remaining remarkably calm and cool in light of things, really. "Yet I can discern no reasonable one for either."

"Couldn't begin to tell you," Tarna muttered, giving them a glance over. "I don't know why they even bother with clothing at all. It's not like they're actually covering much of anything." Tarna rolled her eyes in disgust.

Melaran reddened slightly at the frank assessment of the clothing style, then focused on the two collars for a moment thoughtfully. The spiked seemed more 'aggressive' in tone, perhaps denoting some sort of protective capacity? He could not fathom, and while the idea might assuage some of his natural unease, it was also not an image he might wish to foster. He settled on the D-ring and offered her the unconnected, folded leash.

"I presume that will be expected and more readily-accepted in the eyes of my dark kin," he said quietly.

Tarna looked at it uncomfortably and took it uneasily. Clearly her quiet moments hadn't really managed to calm her down overly much, and she seemed very nervous. Melaran was not perhaps the calmest he had ever been either, but had a lifetime of self-discipline to rely on to settle at least the worst of that and unease.

"Are you going to be alright, Tarna Tanson?" he asked gently, managing the feat of ignoring clothing issues for the moment. "You seem to be uneasy yet, beyond the normal which might be considered in this setting even."

"Yeah..." Tarna said haltingly. "I'll ... I'll manage..."

She closed her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, and with new resolve, headed for the door. Considering it for a moment as she headed for the door, Melaran moved lightly to intercept her, stepping well within the normal bounds which the Eldar of her brief experience tend to maintain and gently gripped her shoulders.

"Listen to me," he said softly, "If you are not ready for this in spirit, then we may wait a while yet until you may be. Time is not necessarily of such great import that a day may not be held aside."

He paused, trying to catch her eyes, then continued.

"You must be sure of yourself in all things, and if some measure of discomfort comes of me that I might endanger you then you must tell me; I will find another path from that which you follow before endangering you, do you understand?"

Tarna gave a nod. She didn't flinch or shy away from him, either. "I'd be more afraid of endangering you than the other way around. But I'll be glad, for once, to not have to face this alone. And I'll be glad to be gone from this place. If anything, remaining here longer will just wear me down even more."

Melaran sighed softly, "You are not alone in this, nor would I allow it to be so as it is within my ability to aid you. I would be... unwilling to see you leave, but will not allow anything of my presence to threaten you for any reason. You are weary and worn enough of spirit, I can add no more to it and be true to my own. Can you do this, Tarna? Think carefully and answer true, as I will accept no less."

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes for a moment and letting out sigh. "Yes, I can."

"Very well," Melaran replied gently, on impulse leaning closer and gently touching his lips to her forehead. "I will hold you to your word, and swear by my own that I shall do precisely as I have said. Do not fail yourself, Tarna, anything beyond that is not yours to carry."

He drew back suddenly and fell silent, his own thoughts a disordered tumble that he tried to place in order. Tarna gives him a faint smile, slips back into character again, and opened the door to head out again. Melaran began to follow, through the door, then suddenly stepped back as a detail which had been pestering at the back of his mind surfaced with clarity.

"Tarna, wait," he called her back quietly and returned to the room, "Another potential for difficulty has just risen to mind which we may need attend before going further."

Tarna stopped and headed back. "What is it?"

Waiting for the door to close again, he brought a strand of his own pale gold hair and examined it ruefully.

"After considerable thought and observation, I fear this must go if I am to truly pass among the darker kin. Even beneath one of their masks it would prove a potential difficulty." 

He set the strand loose and pointed to the sharp blades at her forearms.

"Barring anything else available, those may suit the basics of the task if you will aid in it."

"I see your point. Hmm, let's see." Tarna frowned thoughtfully and poked around a bit in her bag for a moment.

Melaran waited patiently, not particularly fond of the idea in the first place, but recognizing readily the need for it and determined not to add to the danger already involved.

Apparently, Tarna raided a beauty parlor at some point. She proceeded to pull out a comb, hairbrush, blow dryer, beach towel, and finally hair dye. "Ah, there it is." At least she knew where her towel was.

The Eldar merely watched with puzzled bemusement as she dug into the beltpouch and begins taking out the copious array of items.

"How odd," Melaran muttered, torn between awe and light laughter at the moment.

"Here, sit down, I'll get to work," she said, proceeding to do so. "Kind of makes me glad of being such a packrat. You never know what you'll need sometimes."

"Indeed," Melaran replied with a quiet chuckle, deciding on levity for the moment as he complied. "Certainly a more-palatable option than that which I would otherwise have considered necessary."

"I'd so hate to take scissors to those lovely locks of yours," Tarna said lightly as she worked on his hair.

Ear-tips colored faintly at the compliment, the attention bringing rise to a cascade of thought which he firmly pushed aside.

"Nor would it be my preference," Melaran replied with deliberation, turning to a more bland and distracting venue. "Unlike our dark kin, we take greater pride in the subtler things, and even small matters are part of the whole."

Clumsy, he knew, but a better than a blissful sigh, damn it!

"Alright, there we go," Tarna said as she finished up.

Tarna handed him a mirror so he could see himself. She stepped back and cocked her head, looking over her handiwork. Melaran examined the result critically, and nodded in approval, appreciative of the overall change in the situation.

"Well done, Tarna," he said quietly, then cleared his throat and continued in a more servile tone, "Rather, if it please you, Mistress, then I am pleased."

"Anything else before we head out?" Tarna said, musing for a moment and putting away the stuff she'd pulled out of the bag.

"Only to gather the remains of the time spent here, Mistress," Melaran responded instantly, working at the role, and collected the unused articles of clothing which he bundled in the sadly-tattered remains of the sheer shipsuit he'd begun in. "Disposing of these may be of some benefit, that no ill-timed question may be asked."

The disposal chute in the hall likely fed into an incinerator, so easily accomplished. Tarna was more inclined to just grab everything and shove it into her bag with the rest of her random crap. She even shoved the collar in there to make sure they didn't leave anything behind.

Melaran was inclined to inquire into the mystery of this pouch as its seemingly-endless capacity was once again displayed, but refrained from doing so other than a quizzical glance at it and a hasty redirection.

"That should suffice, Mistress," he said simply, "Shall we go?"

Tarna gave a nod, and again slipped back into role and headed for the door purposefully.


	9. Pink Passion

Melaran followed silently behind, lowering his eyes as the servitors were observed to do. He paused only momentarily in the stairwell to quietly remind her, with a faint grimace of distaste, of the lead.

"Camouflage," he added with a faint smirk before smoothing his expression to blankness.

Tarna silently dreaded returning to the madness outside, but she resolved to get done here and get out of here as soon as reasonably possible. The less time spent here, the better, she thought. She headed on out, standing proudly and acting like she had every right to be there.

Little, if any, interest was paid to them in the swirl of passersby, the charade seeming to satisfy the average onlooker without a second glance. Picking random examples out of the crowd assuaged any doubts which Tarna may have had in this regard, as they fell well within the range of the acceptable 'norm' in this city. 

Traffic seemed headed largely outward from the center, to more exotic locales and places for the Dark Eldar to entertain themselves in myriad ways until the next raid or attack by one of their foes. Further inward it quieted to a seemingly residential area which grew in prosperity the further one looked to the center of the city. Most likely a facet of the hierarchy of status, the greater occupying the inner circles nearest the heart.

Tarna headed about the vicinity, trying to pick up some idea on where she might find this temple place without looking too conspicuous whilst doing so.

The layout of the city was fairly standard for many societies with a strong, central leadership and hierarchical bent, essentially meaning that the heart was where the egomaniacal would always place their citadels and temples that they might be truly the center of it all. It might be a long distance, by some degrees as they were reduced to walking and waiting for every passerby to notice something amiss, but the journey was actually quick enough.

As they neared the center of the city, however, a brazen clangor reverberated through the air, as though the sound of a great gong struck in slow, steady rhythm.

Tarna listened, tepping back at Melaran, "What is that?" Rhetorically, really, as she didn't expect him to have an answer anyway.

Melaran listened to the sound with narrowed, downcast eyes, thoughtful, then replied seemingly to nothing, "The summoning, Mistress, are we going today?"

Bland and not terribly helpful, but the best that might be done in the circumstances without a means to return her silent communication. He could guarantee that such a thing would be of import, suspiciously fortunate circumstance, in truth.

"Yes," Tarna said aloud, and snapped, "Come." She headed off in that direction purposefully.

"Yes Mistress," Melaran replied with credible meekness, following at a respectful half-step behind as they make their way toward what appeared to be a grand plaza with a towering, bizarrely constructed building at its center. A crowd had already begun to gather as they arrive, a mood of anticipatory energy seeming to suffuse them. 

Several figures bearing ornamental staves could be glimpsed moving through the throng, stopping now and then to indicate an individual before moving on. The individual in question invariably made their way further forward without delay.

Tarna looked over the vicinity discreetly, watching the crowd and those moving through it carefully.

There are a vast array of Dark Eldar present, ranging from the lowest in status to those ranking considerably higher judging by the space granted them and their entourages even here. Unsurprisingly, the robed figures chose almost invariably from those of greater station amongst the horde, only rarely deviating from the tendency to indicate someone of lesser status.

One such was drawing near to them as she observed, paying little attention to the throng as a whole and yet appearing to appraise each of them in passing. Tarna watched, wordlessly sharing general confusion with Melaran while remaining outwardly passive as she waited with rapt anticipation.

Melaran certainly had no more idea of the nature of this 'event' than she did, though obviously of great interest to the horde of Dark Eldar around them. Not likely a pleasant stroll in a garden, he brooded worriedly. The priestess, as gender was determined finally as she could clearly be seen at last and unsurprising, brushed past the two with less than curiosity and no intent whatsoever to indicate such rabble.

She halted suddenly, however, a blank bewilderment creasing sharp, elegant features, and she turned back to raise a hand to Tarna before turning away once more.

"What.." Tarna thought at Melaran as she headed forward like the others had. "Oh Abyss," she added mentally, "What's going on here..."

Melaran followed silently, equally confused and yet harboring deep suspicion as he'd glimpsed the sudden change in the priestess's manner. Anything might be attributed to that One, he muttered inwardly with a flash of irrational anger, ducking nimbly through the crowd to remain at Tarna's heels.

They were appraised momentarily at the entrance to the structure by the Lord that Tarna had seen before, worrisome until her attention turns sharply away.

Tarna was fairly confused about the entire business, but was damn well not going to let it show.

The entry was dimly-lit, but at least provides an escape from the eye-straining roiling patterns of the Warp sky and vision adjusted rapidly to the gloom. It opened out into a gathering area, metal cross-frames set in a regular pattern around it and beings of varying stripes being carried or dragged to be bound to them. Entertainment, Dark Eldar style, would appear to be the order of the day.

Oddly enough, no sign of an audience or participants was yet to be seen, those who were chosen previous having apparently been sent to other areas.

A waiting priestess approached Tarna, offering no slightest inclination of subservience as she said, "Greetings sister. You may proceed upstairs if you wish, being of the first chosen. Or remain with the common celebrants, if desired."

She did not await a reply, turning away to address the next following and sending them to the gathering area ahead without the added offering.

Tarna figured up was the way to go and headed that way without a word. As she did so, she expressed her distaste for this place at Melaran some more telepathically, and added, "I do hope this is what we're looking for..."

Discreet examination revealed a number of lifts to one side of the chamber, a guard in armor standing before each of them to discourage casual wandering. It was likely that their path would lead in that direction, and the guards seemed to pay no attention to Tarna as she considered it, having watched the priestess extend the offer, and offer no interference as they board and the doors closed behind them.

The lift began to rise without any command. Tarna waited as the lift rose. The lift stopped smoothly and the door opened, a heavy and cloying incense wafting in from the darkened corridor that awaits their passage. A bright panel was inset along one wall roughly halfway down, and Melaran could not help but react with an expletive and jolt of shock to the creature that is contained within a brightly-lit and hazy chamber behind it. 

The being was sinuous and fairly _exuded_ seduction with each motion, the lavender-skinned creature approaching the barrier to look out at them with dark interest glittering in its black eyes. It was nude but seemed careless of the fact, or perhaps more intent on those it watched as a delicately-forked tongue flickered to caress full lips in a gesture combining hunger and desire.

A single door at the far end of the hall appears to be the only exit.

"Oh, Abyss," Tarna tepped. "Have I mentioned I hate this place yet?" Only about every five minutes. 

Tarna was glad to have at least some resistance to this sort of thing from her prior experience with Min.

Melaran could but agree with the silent sentiment, revulsion and horror fighting at the temptation of forbidden and deadly delights which such creatures embodied. He turned with a final shudder and looked at Tarna with eyes shadowed by memories of Eldar histories.

"Let us go, quickly, I beg of you, Mistress."

She headed past quickly and purposefully without averting her eyes toward the creature.

It seemed reluctant to see them go, pressing into the corner of the enclosure to follow them as far as it might. They might be gladdened that the construction was deliberately proofed against sound as it cooed at them with hideous sensuality, then laughed deep in its throat as it knew full well where they were going.

The chamber they entered was a smaller, more intimate replica of the one below, obviously intended for a more exclusively chosen clientele as all those present were of varying degrees of status ranging from middle to high ground. A single cross-shaped, heavily reinforced frame was placed center stage, the various notables lounging about displaying degrees of anticipation and jaded nonchalance.

Tarna headed inside, glancing over the general area blandly as she does so.

The Lord followed shortly after, moving at a brisk pace and brushing past Tarna to move to the center of the chamber with barely a sideward glance. A faint psychic reek clung to her, perhaps a memory of long depravity or simply a remnant of the 'ceremony' which the Dark Eldar leader set into motion far below. It was not a pleasant thing and Melaran edged away from her even as she passed, restraining impulse only by the thinnest margin.

"Greetings to you, Sisters," she said, addressing the gathering, "There are a few among you that have not attended these Rites before, but those who have I promise an unusual treat to as the rarest of prizes recently came into my possession."

She smiled, revealing her teeth that for a moment seemed to be edged and set much alike a shark's until the illusion passed, perhaps an effect of the incense and nothing more.

"And without further delay," she nearly purred, lifting a control and pressing several buttons on it.

A formerly-unnoticed door opened and the heavily-muscular Space Marine that Tarna had seen before was dragged out and bound to the cross-frame.

Even as Tarna grinned, she thought to herself that she would see them all dead. She was distrustful of what she had sensed, and kept her thoughts to herself, even though she knew there were few enough of the Elkandu who could intercept narrow-band telepathy, she wasn't too certain of the exact abilities of these people.

The Marine did not go gracefully, and while the Homunculi guarding him were in armor and roughly the same height, his genetic modifications made their task considerably more difficult than they anticipated. Faint displeasure began to emerge on the Lord's slender visage, lashing the warriors to greater effort at the mere thought of her displeasure and they bound the nude man securely before making a hasty departure.

Her expression smoothed to satisfaction, tracing a sharp nail lightly across the man's chest and drawing a faint line of blood. He said not a word, the glare of unwavering hatred speaking volumes beyond what he could ever voice.

The Lord chuckled throatily and turned back to her audience. "And so you see my treat, let it begin."

A faint murmur of pleasure greeted her announcement, seeming to gain in energy as something in the very air changed.

Tarna, not paying as avid attention to the 'prize' as her companions, noticed as two things happened at once: first, a door opened at another angle, suspiciously close to a path one might expect paralleling their route here, and second a panel opened in the ceiling above and a small, transparent platform descended. As waves of alternating anticipation and desire forced themselves on her, she recognized the orb she had come to find.

Matters were complicated, however, as movement was detected in the open doorway and a familiar, slithery figure emerged. The daemonette was not bound or otherwise apparently constrained, but did not seem greatly intent on the participants as it enters. It knew its purpose here, gifted by its hedonistic master, and was more than willing to fulfill its role in the play.

Tarna controlled herself tightly, not allowing the slightest twitch to betray what might be going on in her head as she watched, and glanced briefly at that orb. Much as she would like to simply open fire on the little party here, she did not think that was much of a good idea.

The daemonette approached the bound Marine, its attention wholly riveted on the delightful opportunities presented. It hesitated, suddenly looking to the Dark Eldar lord in silent question, remembering dimly former ceremonies and the sharing of it. The Lord merely nodded in reply, the creature returning to nearly _ooze_ against the captive Marine, silky laughter bubbling as the man struggled vainly against his bonds in stubborn, hateful silence.

These events, however, did generally entail audience participation, the true reason for the hungry anticipation thrumming through those present now and honed to a sickeningly bright edge by the pulsating energies of the Orb. A servitor appeared and began to distribute skin-bound packages, the origin of the hide not something to be thought too nearly upon as opening them revealed an array of glittering, well-honed implements.

Tarna didn't argue for the moment, still keeping up the charade with close restraint, wondering absently just how she came to such disgust and revulsion about this entire business. Well, no sense arguing about that either.

A faint perfume mingled with the incense, the taint of blood mingling with it in an unsavory and heady mixture only enhanced by the psychic weight pressing in on the minds and souls of those present. The daemonette's tongue flickered to probe at the fresh claw wound in the Marine's side, moaning with ecstasy and inward laughter at the futile struggling of her captive.

Fear was unknown to his kind, bloody rage building as he gnashed somewhat pointed teeth in frustration, drawing another trickle of blood from his own tongue. The Lord smiled beatifically, well pleased with the opportunity she had provided for her followers, then turned a suddenly speculative gaze to study them with a momentary indecision. That gaze lingered on Tarna, a smile touching her lips as she decides.

"Sister," the Lord crooned, "As this is your first Rite, I give you the honor of first blooding as well."

She gestured magnanimously toward the Marine and merely waited for Tarna to react.

Even as Tarna wrestled with the situation mentally, she grinned evilly and gave a nod to the Lord, and approached slowly, thinking quickly on what to do and for some reason finding herself thankful to Min.

The daemonette smiled seductively and eased aside, remaining in contact with the Marine but seeming to coil impossibly behind the cross-frame in the doing. More than simple gratification was encouraged by her dark master, bringing others to experience the same depths of depravity was an even sweeter elixir.

Melaran remained near, silent and closed utterly to the world around save the necessary act of remaining within reach should his assistance be called for. Approaching a minion of Slaanesh without weapon was beyond duty or calling, but his reasons remained firmly held to himself. He merely waited, revulsion coiling as he glimpsed the raw hunger in a nearby Dark Eldar's eyes.

Tarna, however, knew that she could certainly not just go along with this. But then also thought suddenly being the center of attention of a fairly negative variety was probably also unhealthy. Tarna's inclination would be toward letting the poor guy go and giving him a fighting chance, as hopeless as it is. Preferably in such a manner that it wasn't obvious she did it, if at all possible.

Releasing one of the Marine's bonds and leaving the rest to him would certainly be within reason, but evading notice by one of the many sets of eyes watching in anticipation would be impossible without use of some Talent. Even that, with the shimmering gaze of the daemonette upon her would be unlikely to go unnoticed, not to mention the nearby Lord with unknown capabilities.

Tarna was, however, more inclined to just do it and take her chances than go along with their depraved rituals.

The Marine's attention was drawn to the movement of Tarna approaching, hatred and the edge of madness glowing like a furnace in his eyes. Were the ceremony to continue uninterrupted, his mind would shatter to the winds before he would utter a single sound as his only means of defiance against the bastard caress of Chaos. A truly willful group of soldiers, as many had learned to their chagrin over long years.

A flicker of surprise entered those pits of hatred as Tarna did the unthinkable, seeking to appear as though an accident for whatever the good it may do as she flicked the release catch to the band securing his arm. He didn't hesitate, nor question his fortune, his fury focused entirely now as at least momentary freedom may be gained.

"For the Emperor!" he roared, ripping himself free in the brief moment of surprise ensuing.

That surprise melted to sudden terror among the laymen celebrants, their anticipation never having allowed for the possibility that this elemental _thing_ might escape and savage their vile revelry. Some began to rise while others were of more practical bent and scurried away from the Marine, having no will to oppose him at this instant. 

The Lord was another matter entirely, quickly regaining her equilibrium and turning her wrath on the lowly woman who would _dare_ to have done such a thing! A nimbus of power gathered around her, preparing to strike the puny creature down with a single word... a word that is never uttered as something snaked around her neck and drew tight. 

Melaran tightened the 'borrowed' pain whip around the Dark Eldar's throat and continued to draw it ever tighter, throwing aside the servitor disguise for well and good at last.

"End your quest," he grated to Tarna, gesturing upward with his eyes, muscles spasming as the Lord turned scattering power on him.

The daemonette would surely move to intervene at that point, in one direction or another for the Dark Eldar Lord or, more importantly in favor of the Orb, but it suddenly developed difficulties of its own. Having the greater part of his enemies flee from him, the Marine turned upon the most foul of his oppressors, leaping onto the creature to throttle it with his bare hands.

Tarna whipped out Dreamfeather in an instant, the pink katana returning comfortably in her hand as she murmured, "Rudolf, don't fail me now." She quickly lifted into the air to snatch the orb into her pouch before more ill-intended attention turns to her.

The ones most likely to cause her distress were currently otherwise occupied. The daemonette was thrashing through a rapid succession of changes in its shape in a vain attempt to shake loose the mad Marine whose fingers dug ever deeper into its throat with each passing moment, its innate sensuality seemingly banished in its struggle.

Dark Eldar were, for the greater part, removing themselves as quickly as they might from the room. An alarm would surely soon be sounded, but they were far too interested in preserving their own skins at the moment to be a hindrance. The appearance of two enemies from their own ranks, plus the rage embodied by the Marine had quite sapped their morale and the Lord was in no position to bolster it at the moment.

That dark entity was currently embroiled in her own desperate attempts to stave off the vengeful Eldar. The two by this point have sunken to their knees, she of growing weakness and he from the persistent but steadily weakening assault of Power. A reek of charred flesh was evident in the air, but the situation seemed well within grasping a satisfying resolution to.

Tarna proceeded to fly down toward where Melaran was and swing Dreamfeather around to attack the Lord. Through blind luck, perhaps, Tarna managed to slice into the Lord without striking Melaran in the process, for which he was eternally grateful she could be sure! Glistening blood gushes from the wound, the already weakened Dark Eldar slumping lifeless to the ground. The Eldar, looking not particularly well for the experience and his skin still smoking in places, followed shortly.

Tarna put her arm around him and murmured softly, "I promised you I'd get you out of here, and damnit, I will if I have to drag you out by my fingertips."

Melaran looked at her unsteadily for a moment, then painfully stirred himself to ask, "You have then fulfilled your quest? Tis all that matters." He smiled softly, then winced. "You should make haste to depart, Tarna. They cannot be far behind."

"I will not leave you," Tarna said firmly.

Melaran made no argument at hearing the strength of her reply, merely accepted it and tries to keep silent despite the extent of his injury. How could he, a soldier, deny that in another which he would have as readily done? Even the use of power was little of concern at the moment, accepting it as simply another aspect of someone who had proven to be a good soul despite what his indoctrination might decree.

She took him up by one arm and directing the sword to take them into the air again unsteadily. The sword struggled a bit under their combined weight, but managed it. She shifted her sword to her other hand, prays quietly, and with her free hand went to put the fake orb in its place, all the while prepared to teleport them out herself if need be.

Fortunately for both of them as she rose and set the false Orb in its place, the Laughing God had indeed been watching and whisked them immediately away. A brief flare of blinding light was all the indication that Tarna had that the crazed God was true to his word indeed. She would likely be _quite_ pleased to find the extent of that, as the explosion mingled with the energies of the Warp and _annihilated_ the city.


	10. Interlude in the Warp

"Welcome back," a familiar, cheerful voice greeted them.

Tarna found herself returned to the familiar odd space of the 'shack'. She about fainted in relief as she realized where she was, collapsing and panting for a moment as tension she hadn't even known was there.

"Thank you," she said. "I was just starting to think that I hadn't really thought that far ahead..." She looked over to Melaran with concern.

Bob laughs brightly, "Oh no worries, though I _was_ wondering how long it would take you to recognize the small detail you'd overlooked before your trip. And what a trip it was!"

He burbles enthusiastically, a shimmering hologram appearing in the air nearby as he continued, showing the bazaar fight.

"Action!" then flickering to the hostel, "Drama and..."

He waggled a brow and cleared his throat. A half-filled bowl appears in his hands and he munched on popcorn as he went on, flickering to the plaza.

"Suspense! Hah, they think they're so clever!"

He chuckled, flickering to the daemonette and the 'Rite', though his eyes narrowed at the reminder of Slaanesh.

"And don't forget Horror and a ride off into the sunset, hmm? Care for some?" he asked offhandedly, holding out the bowl.

Melaran just watched the jester at play with dawning comprehension and horror, not realizing right away that the pain was no longer present nor was the soul-searing damage which had been afflicted.

"You did not jest, Tarna," he groaned, pushing himself up to a seated position. "Yet I must offer the Prankster thanks, for reasons of my own," he finished quietly. 

Tarna impulsively hugged Melaran. Melaran looks stunned for a moment, then surrendered his reserve to return the hug, grateful they were both alive and at the moment at least relatively safe. Relatively speaking. Sort of.

One snappily-dressed ghost poked his head out of the sword that she'd dropped and said, "I concur! A right jolly good show if I do say so myself!"

"Awww, now isn't that sweet?" Bob broke in with malicious glee, then looked aside at the spirit with a grin. "Well, at least someone has a sense of humor and appreciation for the finer points of the game around here. Somewhat deceased though they may be."

Tarna released him and chuckled softly for a moment, going to pick up the sword. "Thanks for the help, Rudolf."

Rudolf said, "Naturally! Always glad to be of service, my lady!" He bowed extravagantly and disappeared into the sword again.

Bob tsked in mock dismay as the only sensible member of his audience vanished, not that he could really blame the others since _they_ weren't dead or Gods after all, but still! He looked at the two thoughtfully, then grinned.

"You have something for me, yes?" Bob said. "A shiny new toy? A mere bauble to torment that androgynous bastard and his get with? Yes, yes?"

He was nearly bouncing with glee at the thought of it. Tarna giggled, her manner brightening considerably as it was now clear everyone -- who was alive to begin with at least -- was still alive and appeared to be about to remain that way, and pulled the orb out with a flourish, offering it to him.

Sickly waves washed from the Orb as it returned to the world and Bob snorted disdainfully. "Now, now, none of that. Must be a good sport even when you're the loser."

The energy was savagely thrust away as quickly as it had arisen, and Bob danced near to sweep the globe from her and spin about with it raised above his head, obviously very rapturously pleased with the acquisition. 

He stopped mid-spin, facing them with the orb held before him in one hand, the other drawing a brightly-colored cloth from the air that he placed over the sphere.

"Now you see it... now you don't!"

And with that, it was gone and beyond their reach and that of Chaos, where it might find its purpose was anyone's guess at this point.

"Now!" he went on energetically, sitting down on a chair that appeared. "Let's chat, shall we?"

"Sure thing," Tarna said cheerfully, taking a seat readily should one present itself and putting the sword aside again.

Oddly enough, she didn't seem to find the prospect of deities watching what she was doing and finding it amusing to be particularly disturbing. Damned Shazmar. A chair did indeed appear, Bob being in a grand mood and inclined to be a most gracious host, and he snapped his fingers as the thought brought something to mind.

"Speaking of," he bubbled, "Shall I return all to their natural states and preferred clothes, merely a trifle but you might be more comfortable that way. Never have understood such things from the kids, but they're so terribly fussy about that sort of thing." He snorted.

Tarna snickered for a moment, and said, "Yes, I do believe that would be much appreciated. I feel like an S&M queen in this getup..."

"So be it!" Bob declared.

His eyes twinkled with an unspecified merriment as she returned to human form, wearing a tunic, trousers, and rough leather boots. He looked aside at the Eldar and snapped his fingers, clothing him in familiar Guardian armor.

"Nah, too military kitsch."

Snapping his fingers again, a flowing, comfortable robe replaced the armor and Bob sighed.

"Never have liked the dress look, but the kids seem to love it. Go fig."

Melaran remained silent throughout, trying to still his thoughts so as to give the Prankster aught from which he might work. Futile, but certainly couldn't blame him for trying!

Tarna snickered a bit, although she almost seemed a little disappointed, all in all. She looked at Melaran quietly.

"So!' Bob began, lounging lazily back in his chair, "Did we have fun, kiddies? I have to admit that I didn't think there'd be two of you coming back, though can't say I'm against it since I was responsible indirectly for the mess in the first place." He chuckled and shrugged. "Sometimes ya just gotta do something that seems right, even if it makes no sense at the time, am I right?"

"I don't exactly mind..." Tarna said. "Although if I end up collecting an Ork, a Space Marine, and a cute little Tyranid too, somebody is going to die," she said brightly.

"An Ork? Ugh please!" Bob threw his hands up in exaggerated disgust. "They're the next best thing to a joke that this place can come up with on a racial level. No clue how they've survived so long except by dumb, and I do mean _dumb_ luck! Tyranid and Space Marines? Nah." He made a throwing-away gesture. "The first is too simple to get a joke and the second is about as humorless as my own kids. Like I need more family? Eesh."

Tarna giggled, leaning back. "Well, that was certainly an... interesting... experience. If I do say so myself."

"Well hey," Bob said with a grin. "Did I promise some fun or did I promise some fun, and far be it from the great and powerful Bob." He broke off into a laugh at the _look_ he got from Melaran at that, then continued, "to not deliver. I mean hey, you rescued the damsel in distress... uhh, sorry, it's the dress, throws me every time, _any_ way! You got to be the hero, doing all the usual hero schtick and schlock, and came back with the prize without being any the worse for wear. Can't beat that, can ya?"

He chuckled lightly, then looked at his 'kid' and just shook his head without comment.

"I'm sure it'd be a box office hit," Tarna said dryly, glancing over at Melaran with a bit of a smirk.

"Even with the crowd in this crazy universe," Bob agreed with a nod. "People eat that kind of thing up like popcorn. Hah. Well, seeing as it's the next big hit and all, think you're up for a sequel or three?"

He stopped, his expression descending to a more normal and less manic smile.

"You've already done more than I could hope for, Tarna, and you've got a thank you or two waiting on you, so the choice is yours. No pressure or anything," he added, slipping back to a grin. "Not like it's world-saving stuff or anything. Sure nothing bad'll come of it at all, really!"

Tarna laughed. "Not like I believe that for a minute." She winked. "But of course I'll do it."

"Spiffy!" Bob replied enthusiastically, as if there was any other way he seemed to approach things on a regular basis. "You won't regret it! Well, any more than the usual 'Oh blast, I'm gonna die!' sort of regret, but that's all part of the thrill to a game. I mean really, what fun if you don't have a bit of risk mixed in, huh?" He stood up and hmmed, "Something I need to check on, though, back soonish." Then he vanished.

Tarna shook her head for a moment and muttered, "Either that or I'm just stupid and/or suicidal." She glanced over at Melaran. "I suppose you'll be wanting to head home now, eh?"

Melaran remained impassive as 'Bob' departed, only allowing his thoughts to catch up with him at that point as Tarna spoke.

"I don't believe either applies to you," he replied with a light sigh, "Though one might think you mad for trusting your fate to the Prankster so readily."

He shook his head and looks at the robe with its patterns and familiar colors thoughtfully.

"Probably a bit of that, too," Tarna admitted. "But it's better than some of the alternatives."

"There is that," he replied with a quiet chuckle, "One might certainly expect that his 'game' shall prove no less energetic than the one which is behind us. And beyond that point?" He shook his head. "I would doubt that things will simply end there, Tarna, as such tales never should."

"I imagine not," Tarna said. "Though I'd sort of like to go home again afterward. Or at least someplace else. Eventually. Well, I'm sure this mad quest is a good way to see the galaxy, eh?"

"That it likely shall be," Melaran agreed readily, "And such may be a thing of wonder or horror, at the twist of card or fickle touch of a crazed God. At least it shall never allow for boredom whilst it continues, I should think. And I..."

He glanced back to her, the changed appearance not surprising or sparking the instant reaction Bob might expect.

"What would you have of me?" Melaran asked. "Since finding myself sundered from all that I have known, I have needfully looked more closely at the world about me and found that all was not entirely as I once thought it to be. Shall I then return to Iyanden and wonder, Tarna?"

"I'll not drag you along into apparent, but uncertain doom against your will, but," Tarna said, "if such were your inclination, far be it from me to attempt to dissuade you from such."

Melaran seems uncomfortable for a moment, then shook his head and offered a thin smile. "I think the Prankster already has his game and pieces arranged, but if you will allow it and he might do the same, then I will gladly await your return in this place or any else you might say."

The thought of remaining here with 'Bob' was disquieting to say the least, but he'd do it.

"Very well. As you wish," Tarna said. "I can't say I'd blame you."

"Well then!" broke in the by now _quite_ familiar voice, and Melaran winced visibly and set aside what else he was mulling over to return to thoughtful silence. "Seems everything was right where I left it!" He produced a little yellow duck and squeezed it for the predictable honk, "Never can tell when you're going to need one of these."

Tarna giggled at him.

"So, everything all ready and set to go here?" Bob asked brightly, "I decided to bypass the random chance of the thing and settled on the next target myself, it's a doozy I tellya! But now that you've seen what one of the human Blood Angels can do when they're stripped down to what nature and a bit of genetic hanky-panky intended, I don't think the dangers should be too far beyond imagining... though there _could_ be a twist or two."

"Oh, that sounds positively thrilling," Tarna said dryly.

"Doesn't it, though?" Bob replied with a chuckle, "I'll let you decide how you go about it, whether you want to start out on the outside or tossed right into the middle of the place. Either works from my point of view, but I have to say that the outside route might be a bit more fun if you're up to practicing your acting skills a bit."

Tarna considered briefly and said, "I'll take the outside, then, Bob."

"Oooh, a woman after my own heart, and not even with a chainsaw!" Bob laughed in delight. "I'm feeling a bit generous though after your last stellar effort, so I'll give you a little clue on where to begin this time around... Don't fight it." He grinned.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said.

Bob looked at her thoughtfully and shook his head. "Nope, that just won't do."

Her attire changed to something that looked like it was mass-produced, and it probably was, the basic quality readily recognizable to millions of people across the Empire of Man.

"This is gonna have to stay here too," he added, holding up her bag of holding in one hand, "Unless you want to take the real chance of losing it?"

"If you say so," she said with a touch of disappointment.

"Trust me," he said with an impish grin, the specter of a thousand souls suddenly screaming in distant terror and running for their very existence at the idea. "You're gonna need your wits and a bit of luck on this one, more than anything else. Well, that and this..."

He dug out another orb and lobs it in her direction, it's flight stopping to hover in mid-air within easy reach.

"Bit of a surprise, though a lot like the last one," Bob said.

Tarna took it, glances at it for a moment, and put it away. "Okay." Perhaps it was a clear testament of Tarna's level of sanity that it had never really occurred to her to _not_ trust him.

"And with that, ya ready to go on the road, kiddo?" Bob asked, pulling what looks to be a baseball out and hefting it in one hand. "Never did understand the appeal to this one, even way back in the day, but..." He shrugged.

Tarna glances at it and smirked. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Batterrrr UP!" Bob called out and sent the ball streaking out in about the most improbable screwball imaginable, though it seemed to hit an invisible wall suddenly and exploded into a million shards of light, leaving a similar portal to the one she'd gone through before. 

Breaking his silence, Melaran said softly, "Be careful, Tarna." Then turned a silent glare on 'Bob'.


	11. Bloody Hell

Tarna found herself suddenly in a small apartment, best described as early cement-block architecture and the minimalistic furnishings doing little to add any life to the small area. No windows were present, a door led to a small bathroom, and a solid steel door likely led out into a hall. The layout was the most common across thousands of Imperial worlds. A cube farm.

"Hrm, almost forgot," Bob said, suddenly appearing beside Tarna. "Here."

He shook out a delicate-seeming chain with a stylized pendant, the decoration appearing like nothing so much as an elegant sword, which he reached out to lightly settle around her neck.

"Can't let you go totally unarmed." He grinned. "Though it'll be our little secret, eh?"

It'd drive the kid crazy to think he'd done so, he knew. Great laughs indeed. He vanished again.

Tarna peered at it for a moment and murmured, "Okay then..." and proceeded to take a look around the immediate vicinity.

With the presence of the quixotic God finally banished for now, something else rose to attention as she looked around. Somewhere in the distance, a siren was howling discordantly, obviously warning of something but no immediate explanation providing itself. On second thought, as a hammering was heard _through_ the steel and ceramcrete of her surroundings and likely from down the hall, perhaps the warning was of slightly greater immediacy.

Tarna frowned a bit and proceeds to head out to figure out what's going on. The steel door was surprisingly stout and well-secured, Tarna found, and it took a little figuring out to get past it to get _out_. The hall immediately outside is empty, but sudden movement at the far end catches her eye... several _very_ tall men in blood red armor have apparently broken through a door and are in the process of dragging a sobbing woman and incoherent man from the apartment.

Tarna peered out down the hallway and watches quietly for a moment. The couple were directed with firm, no-nonsense commands to report to the transport below upon peril of their souls and the Wrath of the Emperor. Funny, the capitalization came through perfectly clearly in the speech, and they moved to comply with resignation. The marines turned and began to head to the next cube when they notice Tarna.

"You there!" the apparent commander snapped out to her, "This building is to be purified, report below in the name of the Emperor. Now!"

The tone was one that is common to those accustomed to being instantly obeyed, most likely at the reinforcement of the rather nasty-looking bolter and chainsword he carried and the rifles of his men. Tarna recognized the insignia and color scheme suddenly, the Blood Angels.

Tarna proceeded to act meek and obedient and moved to comply. After making certain that Tarna was acting in the Imperially specified manner, the Blood Angels turned to the next door and the commander briefly offered a thanks to the Emperor that at least _one_ of them had the sense to answer and respond to the summon properly.

The stairs led down quite a few floors, opening at last to a doorway leading out where a diminishing crowd of people are milling about. Tarna went down and glanced about the vicinity. She was slightly glad that at least nobody was shooting at her yet.

Several Blood Angels were standing nearby, watching the tenants of the building through the glittering black viewslits in their helms and alert for any who might seek to stray from the fold. A hover transport was parked nearby, and people were being loaded into it one at a time after a brief examination by an odd little man in a blank black uniform, one eye replaced with an obvious cybernetic.

Tarna milled about the vicinity, trying to blend in with the crowd and glancing around, observing the area and the people around -- especially the ones who looked interesting, because anyone who looked interesting was probably important -- as much as she could without drawing attention to herself.

The majority of the crowd were non-descript Imperial citizens, their clothing similar in design and quality to her own which she might suspect would indicate they were on a fringe world from tidbits she 'knew'. A few more followed after her, herded by the Blood Angel commander she'd seen before, one of them being carried out with an obviously-broken leg... quite recent, in fact, as it was untended.

Only the black-clad man seemed to be truly out of place here, a fragment of unease rising as a word surfaced... Psyker. Intolerant and homicidal they might be, but the Empire was not above using the occasional converted 'mutant' to their cause. Tarna kept an eye on him as she wondered just what was going on around here and waited quietly.

The wounded man was loaded into the hovercraft without any particular concern for his condition, though his neighbors inside did what they can to make him comfortable in one corner of the plain steel hold. As the crowd thinned, Tarna could see more readily inside, the citizens sitting with tired, resigned expressions on benches along the sides. Tarna was actually the last to be 'appraised', and the red sheen of the Psyker's eye flared briefly.

"A halo for this one," he said simply.

He handed a spiked circle to one of the marines as cool mental fingers could be felt probing at her mental barriers. Tarna looked up at him quietly, shifting uncomfortably for a moment as she felt him probing at her.

The halo was an ancient device, each said to be blessed by the Emperor Himself as it was placed at least once within the glowing radiance of the distant Golden Throne. Sudden vertigo and darkness enfolded Tarna as the device was placed over her head, confusion scrambling her thoughts and shorting out the impulses which might otherwise serve to summon her psychic abilities. Time unknown passed.

Tarna experienced moments of clarity, catching the briefest glimpses of things as a playful mental caress cleared the cobwebs of her mind now and again on what she may presume to be a long journey. That assumption came of seeing the interior of a shuttle, and then later a ship and feeling the distinctive rippling of power associated with entering the Warp. Some unknown time later, she woke again.

"Shhh," came a quiet voice in her mind, the staggering effects of the halo falling entirely away at last as Bob continued. "Play along for now, dear girl, don't want them to think you're not in their control and ready, unpleasant things might occur then."

She was currently being moved along a brightly lit hall, laid on a chill metal table but surprisingly not bound in any way.

"Right..." she thought quietly, continuing to play along without a second thought.

Her path seemed to be at its end, at last, the destination a gigantic chamber lined with crystalline tombs within which could be seen odd fleshy organs floating in bubbling fluid. A fountain burbled and chuckled merrily in the center of the room, its waters arcing high above though 'water' may be an inaccurate description as it was a most unwholesome crimson reminiscent of blood.

The table was left near the fountain, and she heard someone scream suddenly in unimaginable pain. Another psychic was bound nearby, being ritually vivisected without benefit of anesthetic as it would taint the blood which flowed in rivulets along a gutter and into the fountain. Unbidden, a bloody haze of rage flickered across her vision though it was within the bounds of control... for now.

"Bloody hell," Tarna thought, although whether merely as a generic curse or a description of the vicinity is questionable.

"Indeed," came the inevitable sardonic reply. "And now, the game is yours."

The voice went suddenly silent leaving her only with three long-robed priests of Sanguinus and their nearly completed work. Faint light began to glow from within the fountain, pulsing sickly to the slowly diminishing heartbeat from the other table. One of the priests chuckled raspily and licked his instrument clean before continuing his work.

Tarna thought that these people were a wee bit messed up and has to wonder what other sorts of fuckups might be running around this galaxy.

The screaming cut off abruptly, a low sigh of release escaping the raw throat as the arching and writhing body sank lifelessly back to the cold metal of the table it was bound to. A few last trickles of blood flowed into the fountain, and a pulse of it seemed to echo in Tarna's veins as a faint pink crept into the liquid of the crystalline chambers lining the walls and casting a hellish glow.

"Well," one of the priests said offhandedly and without any real emotion. "That's that, on to the next."

He chuckled, and she heard the sounds of their steps approaching her table, the tray of cruel instruments rattling with menace as they were carried over without benefit of cleaning them first.

Tarna was, naturally, fairly disinclined to just lay there and let them do the same to her, having at least a modicum of self-preservation about her. She proceeded to leap to her feet and grab whatever was handy to swipe at them with, hoping to catch them by surprise.

The halo fell uselessly aside as she moved, the metallic clatter drawing a disbelieving look from the priests for a few moments during which she easily managed to snare one of the blood-soaked utensils they'd been using, the only thing that came readily to hand. Surprise was a fleeting thing in the face of those in the Emperor's service, however, and one of them quickly pressed a button that set an atonal siren to howling.

"Naturally," she muttered, proceeding to snatch up their utensils with telekinesis and flinging them at their faces with no particular precision. "You sick fucks," she spat.

Slow to react in this, perhaps a measure of surprise at the strength of the power, the priests suffered varying degrees of injury from the flying cutlery with the worst dropping bonelessly to the floor as a lucky shot drove a hooked scalpel through an eye and into his brain. The other two were not inclined to address the problem without the inevitable reinforcements and moved quickly as they might toward the sole exit.

Tarna tossed aside the bloody implement and fumbled with the pendant around her neck, thinking that she'd really appreciate a weapon better than a scalpel at the moment. She did not think herself psychotic enough to take up killing people in that manner on a regular basis. The 'gift' came as somewhat of a surprise as a blade formed in her hand in place of the pendant; it was of unequaled elegance and beauty, finely balanced and Tarna could feel a subdued aura of power surrounding it and seeming to bind to her grasp.

Wasting little time, the priests broke into a locker near the entry and dragged out bolters with which they were intimately familiar of old practice.

Calling to mind her Dream Ninja training, Tarna tried to teleport directly behind them swinging. Tarna stepped through the dreamworld, a fairly normal procedure in her own plane, but she had a moment of eternity to consider madness as she broke through into the violently surging energies of the Warp here. A faint bloody reek contaminated the chaotic Warp even further here, and a lust for death clung to her as she appeared again and swung the shimmering blade.

Disorientation might affect her by degrees, but the weapon seemed to add a strength of its own as it sliced with a singing laughter, leaving a bloody swath through the two very surprised priests and dropping their lifeless bodies and shattered weapons to the ground in multiple parts. An approaching clangor of heavy armor drew her attention, even through the bloody haze, the Blood Angels stationed here reacting with predictable alacrity.

Tarna shook her head out for a moment and proceeded to make all due haste to vacate the immediate vicinity if at all feasible.

The Blood Angels were approaching down the hall facing out through the only exit, and were in fact raising shouts and weapons to fire even as she looked around. A panel controlling the door drew her attention though, a single press of the button slamming a door designed to ward off even a powerful explosion closed before the charging foe. Silence descended, save for the throb of a dark, evil heart in her head.

It promised blood and glory beyond reckoning, beyond belief, bringing death to all those who may oppose her without fail. The rhythm pulsated in time to the light of the fountain, offering its foul gift of power if she would but submit and serve. Tarna swayed for a moment, taking a deep breath as she tried to get her bearings now that she didn't appear to be in immediate danger of being shot at.

"No," she snarled firmly, trying to push it out of her mind.

Even a fragment of the Blood God Khorne was not so easily dissuaded, particularly not in light of the recent carnage at her own hands and the sacrifice presented before to strengthen it. She could feel it pulsing redly in her mind yet, a siren song of blood and death for _any_ enemy, surely there was at least one she would seen brought low... The room's light took up the pulse, the unholy glow adding to disorientation.

Tarna struggled to focus, shaking her head and clenching her eyes shut again for a moment. She opened them again and peered about the vicinity, trying to figure out what in the aptly described bloody hell was going on.

The insidious assault continued unabated, nearly crooning in its song now and showing her hints of what could be if she but allowed it. Images flickered through her mind, the power dredging mercilessly through memory to find suitable targets and showing her slaughtering them one by one in an orgy of blood and hate. No hint of its source was revealed beyond what she had already seen and may know.

Steeling herself against the images, she headed in to track down the source of it, suspecting what this probably was.

"I'm not interested!" she strained through grated teeth.

The delving into memory only became the more energetic and bloodthirsty in their content as she turned from the door and moves back toward the center of the chamber. A particularly loathsome and powerful surge of bloodthirst staggered Tarna and she reached to stabilize herself only to find her hand sticky with the lifeblood of the victim on the table whose very essence flowed into the tainted fountain.

Tarna looked at her hand for a moment, blinking, and her eyes led over to the fountain. She approached to take a closer look at the thing.

"I'm not listening!" she hissed.

Deep in the bowl of the fountain, near its heart, a shimmering glow could be seen upon closer examination, and obviously the source of the relentlessly pulsing light through the bloodied waters. Its power continued to try, regardless of her denial, digging and prying further through her compartmented memory for fresh scenes of violent debauchery.

Tarna clenched her teeth, reaching in to try to grasp the object and trying to ignore the prying into her mind and trying not to think too hard about what she was reaching into.

Foul water cascaded over Tarna as she reached for the Orb, for such she determined it to be as her fingers curled about its smooth surface. As a final tactic, it showered her with equally-violent images of any she did or ever had cared for being slaughtered mercilessly and the only chance to avoid that fate the whispered promise of power granted to prevent it all. It lay within her grasp, she need only to choose...

"Fuck you," she whispered.

She grabbed the thing and fumbling about for the fake one with her other hand. The other seemed to nearly leap to hand as she dropped the blade, eager in its purpose and spreading a momentary balm over her battered and bruised soul before settling into place where the foul one had resided. There was no sudden flash as before, the false orb instead seeming to take root and then growing crystalline branches which drew in the tainted waters and glow with an ethereal light.

That light flowed outward, purifying the water in its wake and flowing beyond through the intricate system built into the chamber to the corrupted geneseed matrices. Its purification continued there, leeching the blood of the slain from the fluid and settling with gentle caution around the lumps of flesh, vanishing entirely as it settled somehow within.

Tarna breathed a bit of a sigh of relief as she relaxed a bit from the momentarily release from the assault on her mind, and stepped back to stare at the effects of the new orb.

Tarna was given a few moments to survey, then a grinding was heard behind her as the heavy door opens of its own accord to allow access to the Blood Angels waiting outside. They had a moment to see her and rush in before she and her blade vanished without a trace, returning to a distant playroom in the Warp.


	12. A Breather and a Random Interruption

"Oh well done!" congratulated the ever cheerful Bob, "Well done indeed!"

He stepped forward in anticipation, holding a hand out as though for a treat, though his movement did reveal something rather odd... an Eldar bound to a chair by silvered tape with cartoonesque duckies melded into its design, and a ball gag in his mouth.

Tarna went to hand him the orb before falling over laughing uncontrollably. Bob took the orb and treated it with glee nearly equal to the one which he received before, the Chaos entity most mirroring his own brother would find himself at quite the disadvantage now and it was a thought bounded round with laughter.

"Oh joy, oh rapture!" he commented.

He sent the Orb wending away in a flash to follow the other wherever it might be, and turned to Tarna with a grin.

"Oh the grand joke you played on them! But, let's get you straightened up a bit, shall we?" he remarked.

The taint of blood and gore was offensive to him due to the source, and she found herself suddenly cleaned and neatly dressed in her normal attire.

"Much better." Chuckling, he crouched down near her, prodding though he can guess. "Care to share the source of your own mirth?"

Tarna finally controlled her laughter for a moment and looked over at the "duck taped" Eldar and said, "What did he do, anyway?" Then she started giggling again at the absurdity of it.

Melaran's expression fell from one of worry and concern to utter embarrassment, and he looked silently aside although not without a sense of a deeper relief.

"Oh, him?" Bob asked jovially, hopping up and skipping over to stand beside the captive man. "Just a silly game, really, not really wise to try and strangle a God, especially one who has a sense of humor."

He chuckled and tweaked the other's nose, earning a suddenly hateful glare. Tarna only laughs even harder at that.

After a little bit more of that, she went over toward Melaran and said to Bob, "You know, I think the universe is going to pray you and Shazmar never meet up..."

"The more I hear of this one the more I'm sure he and I simply _must_ meet some day," Bob replied.

Bob leaned to rest his folded arms on Melaran's head as though just another piece of furniture, paying no heed as the other tried to shake him away.

"Sounds like a delightful fellow," Bob went on. "My kind of vagabond entirely, and we likely _will_ meet somewhere along the way since that's where brother dearest is at the moment anyway."

"I'm sure it's inevitable. It's the last thing the majority of people in the universe would want to happen, therefore it _must_ happen eventually," she said with a smirk and a slight roll of her eyes.

Tarna then went to ungag Melaran.

"Oh to be sure," Bob replied happily, "I'll be sure to look him up after having a little chat with stuffy old Khaine, see if he's gotten a sense of humor after all these years."

He snorted, looking down at Melaran as she worked at the gag.

Bob muttered, "Somehow I doubt it. Sure you want to remove that? He'd probably be a lot more amenable and easy to control this way," he finished with a comical waggle of brow as he stepped back.

"Bah, what's the fun in controlling people?" Tarna smirked.

"Oh fine then."

Bob smirked and snapped his fingers though he obviously didn't need to do so, the gag and bindings vanishing entirely leaving Melaran -- who incidentally was back in his shipsuit, sticky tape was _ever_ so much more threatening with the risk of contact! -- free and looking somewhat stunned at the moment.

"Don't say I never offered you anything, though," he quipped.

Tarna smirked again and said to Melaran, "So. Do you think you'd be better off just going with me, or staying here?" She sniggered again.

Melaran shook off the momentary shock at her question, obviously rattled and regathering what remained of wit and thought and... he covered his eyes with his hands and takes a deep, calming breath, then dropped the hand to look to her with a ghost of a smile.

"I would have attended you before, Tarna," he replied quietly, "Yet it seemed that there were others with different plans which I may not naysay, to my regret."

The 'other' in question, was suspiciously silent at the moment, and was in fact suddenly nowhere to be seen. Likely off refreshing his popcorn for the next movie segment or some such nonsense.

Tarna smirked. "Well, at least somebody was having fun here."

"Are you alright?" Melaran asked gently.

He rested his hands deliberately on his knees in restraint, dismissing the thought of the insane God and insane conjecture for a path of very real concern.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Tarna said.

"Your plight was... most difficult to watch, particularly as the vile hand of the Destroyer began to make its presence felt. Dealing with the influences of the foul powers is not pleasant..." he trailed off fumblingly, silently cursing his tongue.

"Don't you worry about me. I'm a stubborn girl." She smiled at him.

Melaran rose and faced her with restrained dignity, "That is assuredly true, and yet I may not fail to do so regardless."

He offered a very formal bow, then slowly straightens and turned to walk toward the door leading out of the playroom. Tarna headed along with him, stretching a bit as she did so and glad, at least, that that was over with for now.

Stopping outside the shack, Melaran looked up at the roiling skyline with distaste and looked away, an undefined anger bubbling inside and setting him to move again at a quicker pace and only coming to stop at the edge of the infernal island. He looked out into infinity there, an even greater portion of the Warp open to his sight, and sighed as he sank to the ground with graceful ease and drew one leg up beneath him.

Tarna headed up behind him and sat cross-legged by him. "So. How are you doing? Aside from the ... yeah."

"As well as might be expected," Melaran replied quietly, fingertips absently brushing the unnaturally-colored 'grass' that covered the field. "In truth, tis not the madness of that One which troubles me most, yet I seem unable to define precisely what that may be and how it may be addressed."

Tarna stared off into nothing and murmured, "This place sometimes reminds me so much of home, and yet even as it seems so its irreconcilable differences become all the more clear."

"Perhaps you should return there," Melaran responded, a hint of melancholy creeping into his tone as he continued. "Before the madness of this place infects and destroys you as surely as it does those who are born to it. Go and never look back, forget this fool's game which can bring you only pain and find something of peace and joy in your own home."

"That's not bloody likely," Tarna murmured. "Last I saw, the majority of my own people were happily eating up everything Chaos told them and following along like fools. I can't imagine the situation has greatly improved since I was last there, either."

"You have already done more than any might expect of you, even that One, and if his blathering is true and Khaine himself walks once more..." Melaran trailed off, then continued softly, "I do not wish to contemplate what horrors may yet be inflicted upon you in this game. Is what you have already done not enough? To risk more for a mad God of a dying people, when change is already certain..."

"Ah, come on, he's not so bad," Tarna said. "Now, Sardill, _he_ was bad."

Melaran rested his head in the palm of his hand and sighed. "Even in this may you see the failing of this universe, Tarna. A warrior of the Eldar, brave and bold in battle, and yet he may not find the words to express intent and the depth of concern. I am sure He is laughing even now at my folly and weakness, damn him."

"Sardill cursed me to be tortured and killed and find myself alive again somewhere else every day for decades, and didn't even care. When the curse was finally broken it turns out he didn't even remember who I was..." Tarna sighed a bit and shook her head. "No, I've never been one for half-measures."

"You risk too much," Melaran said softly, "And it pains me to see a noble soul do so much and go to such lengths for questionable gain or reason. I do not wish to see you come to harm, and for that did I reach beyond my grasp and inspire that One's quixotic wrath."

"I'm gonna do it," Tarna said. "And if I got nothing of it, that would still be more than I ever got from Jami, for as much risk and darker reasons."

"I wish you might consider else," Melaran replied with a faint smile, looking to her. "Yet I would suppose that such lies not within the nature of any wild and beautiful creature which stalks its prey. The soul, in the end, is immutable, or at the least eternal."

"I'm not exactly better off just going home, either. I'm already days late on reporting in with the Dream Ninjas, and they weren't too happy with me last time I missed my report and made it clear that it shouldn't happen again."

"Gods forbid," Melaran muttered with a chuckle and sigh, then uncoiled and stood. "Then best you return to the game and pay no heed to a melancholy and clumsy Eldar, Tarna. I am certain that One shall be most-anxious to place you once more within harm's way."

Tarna chuckled softly and said, "Don't be so down on yourself. Strange as it may sound, this is considerably safer than most anything I could be doing back home anyway. Especially if Jami decides to stop torturing Sharina's soulstone and actually leave his basement once in awhile." Tarna shuddered a bit.

Melaran shook his head, lost in thought till they near the shack once more and then stopped to face her.

"What then will you seek of the Prankster for his game?" Melaran asked. "Though he may not find great favor amongst the Eldar, he is certainly not without power to grant nearly anything which your heart may desire."

"Though I could not state so blatantly because he has put in mental blocks into my mind, I would not overly complain if anything were to happen to Jami, either," Tarna muttered.

"I would somehow doubt," Melaran replied with a thin smile. "That such is beyond imagining, in the instance of either difficulty stated. I would not wish the Prankster to take interest in myself, I think this person might find equal curiosity... unpleasant," he finished with a hint of a snarl.

"In fact," Tarna went on to say, "I don't think there is anyone in the entire universe who could complain about such, either."

Melaran chuckled, a harsh edge to it. "Sounds a pleasant being, surely much deserving of such tender ministration." He smiled slightly and inclined his head to her, swinging the door wide. "After you, Tarna. May you not regret your choice or this place."

Tarna headed inside, grinning faintly. "Yes, he's very... pleasant," she said dryly. "He used to call himself 'the Devil', think he still does most likely, and had a real thing for raping and torturing people and forcing his servants to do his bidding and prevent them from betraying him with mind control."

"Delightful," Melaran replied with absent scorn, retreating as they crossed the threshold and re-enter the crazed domain.

Bob, on the other hand, seemed delighted to see them as always, clapping his hands together and grinning broadly.

"Well then, all set to begin the next round? This one should be even better than the last for sheer entertainment value, and there might even be room for a morose and ungrateful kid in it." Bob smirked.

"Oh, that sounds fun," Tarna said with a bit of a smirk, glancing aside at Melaran.

"I would dream of nothing else or less, Prankster," Melaran addressed Bob for the first time in Tarna's presence, not precisely encouraging, reverential, or even hinting at graceful. "Not again shall I abandon her to your low sense of 'humor', the very least I may do in apology for the race and its mad gods."

Bob made talking motions with his hand, mocking the Eldar and was only mildly disappointed that he gains no real outward reaction.

"Quite done?" Bob said. "Goody! One day I'll get you brats to relax and have a bit of fun, perhaps even learn to untangle your tongues, eh?"

Bob smirked as the mark struck home, then turned with greater enthusiasm back to Tarna.

"You'll love this," Bob said. "A full contact game of 'Tag! You're It!'"

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, some guy appeared. He had shaggy black hair, piercing green eyes, distinct pointy ears, and was wearing emergency pants and a T-shirt that said, "I'm with stupid" with the arrow pointing up at his face. Tarna recognized him. There was only one person this fool could be: Azale Shadowhand.

"Hi!" Azale said brightly.

Bob looked over at the new arrival and smirked, looking him over. "Oh look, another one of yours." He glanced over at Tarna with a chuckle.

"Yes, I'm here looking for Tarna," Azale said. "I was told to tell everyone about recent events in Torn Elkandu. Then I said everyone is a lot of people, so he just said to tell everyone who might care... Torn Elkandu has been reclaimed from Chaos."

"Well that's dandy news," Bob remarked dryly. "Though perhaps Tarna alone might be interested in it, at just this moment. I do intend to head out that way myself shortly, and a quiet place to avoid the dreary odds and sods of Chaos could be useful I suppose."

"Although all things considered it probably won't change overly much aside from the fact that they'll probably take their orgies inside instead of having them in the street," Azale said, rolling his eyes a bit. "And Pyroluminescence apparently broke up again. Sheniro apparently decided to turn from the dark side and the others just kind of ran off to somewhere, haven't really bothered looking for them yet..."

Bob looked over at Tarna with a grin. "Sounds like a positively enchanting place just awaiting a game or two, if you wish to return there. Other things in the fire for me, right now, but I won't begrudge it if you scamper along. Ties of home and all that such nonsense. Well, not really nonsense, seeing as my own inclinations tend somewhat more to here than there or there or there, but yes." He laughed lightly.

Tarna chuckled softly and shook her head. "No, I'll rather finish what I started. Not that I was ever overly fond of that place in the first place."

Azale took a moment to peer about the place and ended up peering at Bob for a long moment and making a funny face.

"Well that's a relief!" Bob replied with a grin, "Shame to waste the game on a useless, humorless git like him!"

He jerked a thumb at the Eldar and smirked. Noticing Azale's appraisal and expression, he walked lightly toward him.

"Something on your mind? I find myself asking that a lot of people and realizing that it's asking a lot of them, but occasionally _something_ is stirring in their gray matter. C'mon, give!"

"I must say that I've never seen anyone with an aura quite like that," Azale commented. "It's very, erm, interesting." He snickered softly.

Bob grinned brightly and pirouetted in place, coming to rest facing the newcomer again. "Oh _do_ tell me what you find interesting in it, dear man. It always amuses me to no end when people receive entertainment because of me or my actions. Rather invigorating, really, much better than the usual responses I receive here. She," he indicated Tarna, "keeps comparing me to some delightful-sounding fellow named Shazmar."

"Well, I do see the resemblance," Azale said. "Although I haven't seen Shazmar lately, myself, I wonder whatever happened to him... weird."

Bob chuckled and touched the side of his nose. "It's a closely held secret among those of us more likely to make and accept a joke than to mope endlessly and wail, gnash teeth, yada-yada-yada."

He snorted and made a throwing away gesture.

"Boring, the lot of them," Bob said. "No worries, though, I can positively guarantee that the likes of us are never really gone."

He vanished, reappearing behind Azale and leaning over his shoulder to whisper, "May just be looking over your shoulder when you least expect it. No telling, is there?" He waggled his brows with comedic exaggeration.

Azale giggled. "Oh, yes, I'm sure he's gotta be around somewhere or another." He chuckled. "Much as I'd love to stay and chat, I have a few more people that might or might not care about Torn Elkandu to tell."

"Hmm," Bob murmured, dancing away. "There's surely to be one or two in any universe who give a damn though the number is small enough. Even fewer those who have a sense of humor that outshines their ego and arrogance... hence dear Tarna being a treasure beyond price in this or any land!"

He chuckled and made a shooing gesture.

"Off with you, then," Bob said. "Say hello to my brother if you see him, won't you? Then be sure to run before he realizes who the greeting's from!" He laughed merrily. "Oh, such fun to soon be had, and none the wiser for it."

Azale said, "Heh. Sure thing. Ttfn. Tata for now." He waved and disappeared in a swirl.

Tarna snickered softly.

"Was it something I said?" Bob wondered idly, grinning slyly over at Tarna. "I get that sort of abrupt departure quite a bit when talking to people, can't imagine why, really. Silly people."

He chuckled, the simmering burst of energy dimming a bit.

Bob went on, "Ah well, one bit of torment and laughter at a time, eventually they get the joke... even if it's the great cosmic joke found in death. Hehe."

Tarna smirked. "Azale? Nah. More likely he got distracted by something shiny."

"Easy enough to do," Bob admitted readily. "Speaking of, hmm, we seem to have been distracted from something else entirely by the shiny new arrival, though vastly more amusing than the kids. Now, what was it?"

He paused, lips pursing and brow furrowing in a caricature of deep thought, then a smile broke through with the gleaming brightness of sunrise.

"Oh yes, the game, the delightful and ever evolving game!"

Tarna chuckled softly. "Yes, I'm ready to head off again anytime."

"Just so!" Bob chortled happily.


	13. Preparing for the Next Round

Bob ambled over to throw an arm over Melaran's shoulder and dragged him along to do the same to Tarna.

"As I was saying, the games they are a-changin', and this one should be a bit more exciting than the last couple." He chuckled at Melaran's glare and continued, "Oh do cheer up, or I'll be forced to do something entertaining to you again. Besides! You're both going to get some toys to play with and you even get to decide which you want to use! Here..."

Releasing them, he walked forward and brought up a blackboard, using a pointer as an image appeared on it to indicate a fortress in the middle of what looked to be a Chaos invasion.

"This is where the next Orb was, until just minutes ago when those nasty villains of Chaos broke in and stole it!" He tsked sadly, "Quite shameful, really, one might almost begin to think they're starting to get worried for some reason or another. Pity. Hehe. Now."

Bob pointed back to the board. Tarna listened intently, nodding occasionally and examining the board with interest.

"You may notice that the ones who held that fort are still quite intent on foiling the bad guys, and _that_ is where you come in. Now!" Bob exclaimed.

The image vanished and his pointer disappeared as he collapsed it in his hands.

"How you go about doing it is up to you, but there's a few basic guidelines I'm setting for this to define 'victory'. You two get to take and use your toys however you like, but you have to retrieve the case holding the Orb and pull the old switcheroo... Don't worry, you'll know how to open the triple secure, ultra super-duper encrypted lock when you get it, no sense muddying the waters with silly things like logic, reality, or any other crazy concepts. Once you've done that, you have to get it back to the ones who had it before. I think you'll be able to figure that part out all on your ownsome." He grinned. "Do that, and you win!"

"That sounds fun," Tarna said dryly. "What sort of toys?"

Bob grinned "Oh, I've got all sorts of surprises in that regard! Though you're going to have to be someone else for a bit, afraid they just don't come in your size."

Tarna once again experienced the disorientation she'd experienced with the first round, taller once more but at least not in the bondage gear of the Dark Eldar. Instead, she was wearing a brightly colored patchwork skin-tight shipsuit reminiscent of a jester's motley. A shimmering reflection appeared to allow her to confirm that yet again she'd returned to elven of form and feature, though of fairer hair this time around. Tarna blinked for a moment and looks herself over with a faint smirk.

Melaran looked as well, a hint of appreciation except for the bright patterns that are the trademark of the Harlequins which earned Bob a silent glare. Bob just smirks and waves.

"Minor details," Bob said. "Now, on to the toys! The pointy-eared mourner here will be familiar with most of them so might be good to ask what each is if you're unsure."

Suits of various sorts of armor walked in from off-stage, comprising the full line of the Eldar Aspects. Their Harlequin equivalents followed after and stand behind the Eldar counterparts, their odd coloration seeming to mock the others silently despite the fact that the jester armors were, if anything, even more brutal in form and function.

"There you are," Bob motioned them closer, "Take a look and choose carefully. No half-time breaks for changing clothes!"

Tarna quirked an eyebrow and takes a look over the things, and glances sidelong at Melaran. "Interesting," Tarna muttered.

Melaran settled easily into familiar ground, pointing out two sets of armor standing near each other.

"Striking Scorpions and the Howling Banshees both specialize in close combat, hence the power sword and halberd respectively."

He didn't comment on the coloration, the scheme of the standard Eldar armor clearly having come from his own Craftworld and primarily in blue and yellow.

"The Howling Banshees are further specific," he continued crisply, "As they are composed entirely of Eldar females, hence the obviously sleeker and distinctive appearance. The next, the Warp Spiders..."

He shook his head, moving to stand in front of a heavier-built set of armor with a strange pack on its back.

"They are those who leap through the Warp, much as your own ability. Excellent for mobility purposes, perhaps, but an added element of risk which I would not recommend in this instance."

He motioned to the next in line, another set of heavily built armor holding a _heavy_ -looking rifle of some sort.

"The Dark Reapers excel in their role, providing support much in the same way as heavy weapon platforms, their weapons devastating in the extreme. Unlikely to prove of great utility here."

Continuing to the next, the color scheme modified to include burning hints of red.

"The Fire Dragons are perhaps what you might expect, medium range experts with their plasma weapons. A possibility, but most often useful in greater numbers than are available to us."

Shrugging lightly, he moved on to a more generic-appearing armor, reaching out to lightly touch the chest.

His voice was soft as he said, "Guardian armor, the mainstay of the bulk of most Craftworlds' armies, fewer of those for that which bears these colors, but..."

He shook his head and moved on to the last, a sleek and elegant suit with intricately and delicate-appearing wings attached to its back.

"Swooping Hawks, the ultimate in fleet approach within the Eldar armies. They leap and fly to deliver death from the skies. Perhaps..."

Tarna looked over them consideringly. "Interesting," she said again unhelpfully, examining them carefully.

"The Harlequin armor behind," Melaran observed, "Are likely of very similar capabilities, only differing perhaps in grim visage and their affiliation with an insane God."

He glanced aside at Bob with thinly veiled distaste, then proceeded to exam them a bit more closely, finally shrugging lightly.

"Much as I might expect, though a few differences may exist." 

Bob, unusually quiet until now, chuckled. "About the same, yep, just a bit of a jab at their stuffy kin I'd wager. Choose whatever you like, though, and I'll get to the final little surprise afterwards."

He appeared to be playing with an odd stream of light, shaping it with his hands and occasionally tying it like string about his fingers before releasing it to its normal flowing state.

Tarna peered over at him for a moment, quirks an eyebrow, and turned back to the armor. "Hmm. This one, I think," she says, indicating the Striking Scorpion armor.

"Ooh, good choice," Bob said, "And just the right type to wield that shiny pendant of yours. Wouldn't want you to go out unarmed or anything, after all, someone might get the wrong idea or something."

He snickered, continuing to play with the shimmering cloud, the pale blue light glowing gently and flowing readily at his command.

Melaran refrained from reacting to the barb, instead turning to his own personal choice for what they had seen from the blackboard. He began to don the various pieces of the Swooping Hawk armor with apparently practiced ease, and tucked the swept helm under his arm as he walked lightly over to check on Tarna's progress.

Tarna was somewhat less practiced, especially as she had rarely used any sort of armor in her life really. Melaran chuckled quietly and sets the helmet aside, then walks around behind her.

"Allow me," he said, reaching toward but not quite touching the semi-assembled and arranged armor. "There are certain ways which those who pursue one Aspect or another learn upon their roads which facilitate ease in such things, if I may?"

"Oh, sure," Tarna said, happily welcoming any assistance. "Elkandu don't normally make much use of armor..."

"It comes of some use here," Melaran replied simply.

He settled to one knee and first checked the armor at her legs, proceeding with the thorough methodical practice of a soldier upward to fasten each piece firmly enough to protect as it should and yet not too tight lest it cause injury of its own. 

"Protection is perhaps not the focus in it," he continued evenly, continuing the task with quiet attention. "Speed and mobility is ever the strength of the Eldar armies, but such will add to your abilities even there as finely-crafted fiber weaves will enhance the efficacy of any motion by several magnitudes of degree."

Tarna let him work on it patiently, commenting, "Hmm. Interesting."

Melaran rose gracefully, examining the slightly-heavier shell of the armor closely and silently approving of her choice as it would indeed provide more protection than some others.

"Now," he chuckled lightly, lightly reaching to draw back the long, flowing hair that came with the change of form. "For another minor detail that that One did not consider."

Braiding with quick, deft movements, he then slipped the constrained hair beneath the shell. A few final precisely-formal adjustments later, the armor was snugged securely about her torso and complete save for the helm.

"This shall seat itself readily and without trouble with that detail attended," he said, and walked with crisp deliberation to examine the surprisingly-quick work from the front. "Well enough," he remarked, offering a formal inclination of his head.

Tarna looked herself over appraisingly for a few moments and nodded to him. "My thanks." She turned and glanced over at Bob to see what he'd been up to. Melaran retrieved his helmet and turned to do the same, stopping in sudden surprise as he registered the hulking figures arranged behind the irrepressible God. Bob noticed his look and grinned, glancing over his shoulder to look at the five Wraithguard and the towering Wraithlord standing in precise formation behind him.

"Told ya I had another surprise. Borrowed a few supporters from the Infinity Circuit."

These were the standard troops of Iyanden, and Melaran was well and truly glad to see them. Wraithguard were taller even than Eldar and considerably more bulky, but it was the massive cannon that they carried with ease that truly made them imposing. The Wraithlord, on the other hand, was impressive on a vastly-different scale, towering some twenty feet or more above the Eldar and massively armed. The two unit types worked regularly in harmony, the 'guards providing support for the more ponderous might of the 'lord.

There was a problem, however, that Melaran recognized readily and commented on, "What of a seer to guide them? Surely you would not rely solely upon their wraithsight in the heat of a battle!"

Tarna blinked for a moment and looks at the figures. "Whoa. Neat," was all she can manage.

"Forgive my outburst, brothers," Melaran apologized, bowing with formal respect to the mechanical watchers. "I do not mean to belittle you in the least, merely to point out this mad One's folly."

Their impassive masks showed no hint of expression, yet one spoke in an eerie voice, "There is no need to apologize, such is well-known to us, yet He promised to provide upon awakening us."

Bob merely grinned, watching the interplay, still toying with the spectral glow.

"Indeed I did, and while I'm not above the occasional joke or two, I _do_ take my word seriously. I'll get to that in a sec, though. Tarna?" Bob looked over at Tarna and jerked his head. "Come over here, wouldja? Got another of their friends I want you to meet."

Tarna nodded in confusion and went over there, quirking an eyebrow. Bob lifted his hands, the energy curling down along his forearms a bit before drawing back and seeming to quest outward.

"Another of the kids," he said, indicating the glow. "Roughly what you get when a soul enters the Infinity Circuit and heads for the big hereafter until the alarm clock goes off and they end up there." He motioned to the Wraith troops with a tilt of his head.

"This one gets a special job, if you'll let her," he continued with a grin, "You might be hot stuff, in more ways than one, back where you come from. But you said yourself you don't normally use armor, and those reflexes _do_ take a while to train in. Care for a bit of a hand? Fairly amiable sort, far as the kids go, and she had a looooooooong time wearing armor just like that. Besides, give you a look into the screwy heads of the Eldar."

He finished with a snicker, then quirked a brow in question and waits.

"Er, okay..." Tarna said a little uneasily, still confused but still -- for some reason -- trusting him.

"No need to be vorryink!" Bob said with a horrid accent of some sort, for more than her benefit alone, and reached out to bring the swirl of energy closer to her. It seemed to hesitate a moment, then flowed slowly forward, swirling along the edges of Tarna's armor until curling up over the neck and sinking into bare flesh.

Vertigo assailed her momentarily, but she then felt a quiet apology and 'heard' a quiet, "Greetings."

Tarna blinked for a few moments and thought, "Er... Hello?"

Quiet, silvery laughter greeted the hesitant return. "I am Selaria Anwielin, late of Craftworld Iyanden and a veteran of battles beyond count," came the voice in her mind. "Yet never again did I expect to feel the warmth of living flesh and the delightful rhythm of a heart drumming! The Laughing God was indeed true to his promise of providing a most interesting diversion from the calm serenity of the Circuit."

The mental voice hesitated briefly, then continued with a subtly sad reassurance.

"There is no need to worry upon my intent, though I could assuredly grow accustomed to such again it would destroy another precious and beautiful soul over time. I will remain here for now and aid you as I may, as He has said, and return once more to reverie when the call of battle is done." Though quiet, there is a definite feeling of Power to it.

Tarna grinned inwardly and thought, "I shall be most grateful for your assistance in the battle ahead."

Bob, unsurprisingly, seemed aware of the mental accommodation successfully arranged and merely offers a grin.

"Didn't expect that, now did you? Just as..." He turned suddenly to glare at Melaran with a terrible ferocity. "That one and _all_ of them have failed to realize through the long, really damned long years, the most important lesson of all which is _not_ to question their Gods... Well," the towering rage vanished as quickly as it rose, a deep laugh resonating at Melaran's lack of reaction save to straighten resolutely. "Not so much that as to _think_ for a minute and figure the little things out." He ambled over to the Eldar and leaned close to offer as a stage whisper, "Ever wonder why some of you seem able to do spooky mystical stuff while the rest don't?"

He let the question simmer for a second, smirking as puzzlement creased Melaran's brow.

Then he suddenly _shouted_ , "That's because they _all_ can do it _anyway_ , you idiot!"

Throwing his hands up, he began to turn, then snaked back around to thump a fingertip lightly to Melaran's head. The Eldar staggered beneath the light touch, nearly falling as _something_ inside him snapped loose and broke like a dam.

"That's right, you dolt," Bob snorted. "Yer gonna be their watcher, don't need a Warlock or Seer to do it when any of you could do it if you just cut out a little bit of that reserve and allow the power to flow."

He whipped away from Melaran and looked over at Tarna with exasperation.

"Do you see what I have to put up with?" Bob said, throwing up his hands. "Oy, kids!"

Tarna grinned at them a bit. It had been a well-known -- if little acknowledged -- fact among the Elkandu for decades now that anyone could learn to channel, technically, though it had always seemed as though elves had a good deal easier time of it than others. Not that most people who weren't inborn to it ever really bothered trying anyway.

"Well now," Bob replied with his usual affability. "Want to go outside and try the toys out a bit, or just leap right in? Either way works, since there's a couple advantages to having incredible cosmic powers like being able to drop you in whenever I damned well please."

He chuckled and folded his arms, truly not caring either way, _he_ had all the time in the universe to play with and he wasn't in a hurry to end his game either way.

"Heh," Tarna said. "Whenever you damned well please. I'll not be picky." She winked.

Bob snickered and shrugged. "Well, if you're ready for it or at least think so, then step over to ye olde blackboard over there and get going. Otherwise, you know where the door is. Me, I gotta get me some more popcorn. This is gonna be the best damn Blood Bowl game in ages." He chuckled, waved, and vanished suddenly.

"Bloody damned maniac," Melaran muttered, rubbing lightly at his temples. "He's lucky there's no way in the Warp I could do anything to him or I swear I'd have his head on a pike."

Tarna smirked at him and opted not to comment and decided to try out the toys a little bit first, since toys were always fun after all.

"Well c'mon, you lot," Melaran said, looking over at the eerily still juggernauts. "The lady commands, we follow, let's show her a bit of what you can do and maybe I can figure out what exactly the mad God did to me."

Shaking his head, he headed for the door and out into the field beyond.

Tarna went outside and said, "He's damn well right, you know. Anyone can do it. The Elkandu have known that for... a few decades, prior to which they seemed completely oblivious and kept insisting that you had to be born with it to be able to do any neat stuff."

"It's still weird," Melaran replied.

He stepped aside to let the others trudge out behind him, the 'lord somehow not even needing to duck to exit.

"Very weird," Melaran muttered. "I've been part of any number of ceremonies and channeled the psychic flow from the Seer's, but never a clue that something like this was possible. I can _feel_ the Wraithguards and Wraithlord connected to me, using my own sight to enhance their own. I get a strange 'echo' of the dimmer version that they see on their own. And let's not even get into things like being able to tell that there's a double 'glow' around you, or that I can sense a smooth wall around your mind, or that I can feel even more inside waiting to get out!"

Tarna smiled at him. "Mindlinks. Aura reading. Skimming," Tarna said, running down the standard Elkandu terminology for each ability.

Melaran chuckled lightly. "Sounds like there's a lot I'm going to need to learn, and soon, though I doubt it's going to be that much of use in what's coming. Maybe when it's done, though." He quirked a grin. "I should stick around someone that knows something about it, eh?"

He chuckled and snapped the helm of his armor into place, the completed set vaguely reminiscent of the first Eldar she had encountered, if not as ornate.

"I imagine there's some differences between the ways the Elkandu do some things and what they do here, but I've seen plenty of similarities thus far." Tarna shrugged a bit and did likewise.

Melaran remained silent for a moment as he launched into the air, hovering above on shimmering wings and looking at her. He's focusing on something, and part of it got through as he switched from one frame of thought to another, a thought brushing lightly against her mind, "... sword. I'll be damned, it works," he finished coherently, apparently completing the thought with a hint of triumph.

The other presence within Tarna remained quiescent, good to her word that she would act only to refine the reflexes needed to work the armor.

Tarna watched him for a moment and grinned at him. "The basics aren't so tough at least," Tarna said. "Least you've got that much down already. Now, lesse..." She went to try out her own toys.

The armor was surprisingly light and allowed for a nearly-unlimited freedom of motion, while the intricately-fitted plates were curved and angled in such a way as to provide the maximum deflection against enemy fire. Some allowances had to be made for it, however, and Tarna could subtly feel as the guest within compensated for her own assumptions while silently emphasizing the differences to her.

Melaran, in the meantime, settled lightly back to the ground and approached the gleaming behemoths, using the newly freed abilities to communicate and share their sight, testing the limits of what could be done _right now_. He could feel that there were other things still possible, but readily acknowledged that such learning was going to take time. 

"So," he tepped to Tarna, an edge of a grin coloring it, "want to try out the new toys with the boys here? I'm sure at least one of 'em still knows something about hand to hand combat."

He knew that would make her recognize the limits of her armor more readily, a tactic he'd had used on him before to painfully-remembered result.

"Sure," Tarna replied, heading over that way.

Her own combat style tended to rely more heavily on simply not getting hit, but she didn't care to rely on blinking around quite so much here if possible. During her training time with Tempest, though, she had also practiced alternate forms of combat, such as without using her powers at all, in case she got stuck in an antimagic field or something.

Melaran chuckled and turned to communicate the idea with the metallic band, laughing out loud at something one of them said.

" _Not_ you," he snickered, pointing to the Wraithlord, and shook his head bemusedly as one of the 'guards handed off its rifle to a companion and stepped forward. Forgot just how damn _big_ they were, he mused, looking _up_ at the thing.

"Okay then, you're on," Melaran said.

The Wraithguard moved with surprising agility, considering it was 'merely' a construct temporarily inhabited by a foreign soul. The warrior within, however, had served often before from beyond the Infinity Circuit and was quite comfortable in the body.

It came to a halt, facing Tarna, and merely intoned, "Begin when you are ready."

Tarna got a brief impression of laughter from the spirit within her, but it subsided quickly enough without comment or explanation.

Tarna grinned a bit and engaged. Most Elkandu would be completely helpless without use of their powers, hence why Catalysts capable of producing antimagic tended to be so feared. The smarter ones, like Tarna, however, had learned not to rely on it so heavily. Primarily because she was for the most part incapable of using them for half her life due to the curse, but still.

The 'guard waited her movements stolidly, its careful approach perhaps crippling its responses a fraction of what might be seen on the battlefield. Its responses were still quite fluid and quick, making no offensive moves of its own beyond re-directing his attacker's own movements when possible. The Eldar within was all too aware of the frailty of life, and was quite content to just approach this as an exercise or a game.

Tarna practiced, trying to get used to the feel of the armor and different weapons than she was used to, and somewhat that of being a bit taller than she was used to as well. At least she'd already gotten some practice with that bit as well earlier.

The 'guard actually made a wonderful sparring partner in that regard, the warrior within taking mental note of several factors he was aware of and adjusting his actions appropriately. Thousands upon thousands of years he had served in one capacity or another, and this task was no less important than any other he had been granted in all that time. Her own reflexes began to adjust with the gentle interior prodding as well.

Melaran watched the match with critical interest, the basics of what he personally needed to know already tended to. He could recognize the signs in the ancient warrior and smiled beneath the cover of his helm, restraining an accompanying chuckle.

"Enough," he tepped to them after a bit longer, the exercise one in familiarity and practice rather than true exhaustion. "I would give the match to the honorable Wraithguard on points, but I fear that the lady simply far outclassed him in style."

He did chuckle then as the old warrior scoffed in its eerie voice.

Tarna chuckled softly and bowed to her sparring partner respectfully. "Are we all ready to go now?"

The 'guard offered a salute of one hand to its chest, then lumbered over to retrieve its rifle.

"We of Iyanden are _always_ prepared!" it replied with discernible and very Eldar pride.

"I suppose the 'ayes' have it, Tarna," Melaran said, and walked toward the door, "Let's do what needs to be done and be one step closer to away from this crazed domain."

Tarna grinned and turned for the door as well. "And good luck..." she said quietly.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Bob remarked as they enter, lounging lazily in a chair with a bowl of popcorn and a few bottles on a small table next to him, then grinned. "Off ye go, I have the recorder running and the tape's winding down."

Melaran replied with a decidedly rude gesture in passing and stopped at the 'door' in the blackboard.

"Well!" Bob exclaimed, "How rude!" then laughed gaily, actually quite glad to see the spark of spirit.

Tarna laughed aloud and went to head out.


	14. Space Wolves and Nurgle

They didn't actually step through a portal this time, instead suddenly appearing on a rise looking down on the scene they'd been shown. It would appear that it was exactly the same angle, in fact, and Bob must have had his camera up here to get the shot. Below them, the Chaos forces were only now pouring out of the fortress, harried mercilessly by wild-looking marines in blue-gray armor.

"Nurgle," Melaran spat out.

He zoomed in on the scene with suit optics to see the pustulent, undulating hordes of disease and decay below.

"There," he tepped.

He pointed silently toward one side of the mob where a faint gleam from a chrome-alloy case was seen.

"Looks like that's our target, and I guess the fuzzballs are the good guys. Move em out, troops!" he said, motioning the Wraith force forward.

Tarna headed forward, trying to get a look at what these 'fuzzballs' he mentioned might be.

Some of the nearer elements began to notice as the distinctive rolling thunder of the heavy giants echoed closer and closer, but only the stupidest among them immediately charged to the fore. With deadly precision, the 'guards and 'lord open fire with a hail of wraith and star-cannon fire, obliterating the first elements. Melaran moved in leapt and bounded alongside, paying more heed to his grasp on their sight than anything else.

Tarna's search readily revealed the 'fuzzballs' in question, Space Wolves of considerably more feral appearance than normal. They had walked out of the Warp with the last Black Crusade, fighting viciously against Chaos as the lost thirteenth Wolf chapter. Even now they continued to fight savagely, though their lupine mutations brought little trust from the Empire.

Tarna approached steadily, ready to engage the enemy once in range and taking a good look around as they do so. She didn't seem to take the 'fuzzballs' as anything too unusual, though, considering some of the strange things taken as commonplace to the Elkandu. Such as, for instance, the dreamwalking feline nali race.

Some of the Space Wolves looked in the direction of the unexpected fire, but turned immediately back to battle as they recognize another race who was no friend to Chaos. Their numbers were sufficient to win the battle in time, particularly with the addition of the new heavy reinforcements. Something about the situation struck Tarna as not being quite right, though.

That something became blindingly clear as the elements arrange themselves from the chaos, the bulk of the Chaos forces were moving to intercept and slow down the overpowering Marines and Eldar mowing through them while one group was moving _away_ as quickly as possible.

Just as she recognized that, a false Orb appeared and floated before her and an apologetic Bob sounded in her mind, "Whoops! Almost forgot the game piece."

Tarna smirked a bit, grabbed the thing and shoved it somewhere out of the way.

"Hmm," she thought, peering over at the ones who seemed to be moving away. That tended to be suspicious behavior under the current circumstances, alright. She poked Melaran briefly mentally about it.

Melaran examined them in the distance and immediately agreed their location roughly corresponding to where the glimmer of light had come from in the first place. He bounded down next to her.

"I can't be away from them for long," Melaran tepped. "Their wraithsight isn't completely reliable -- but I _can_ get you there and come back."

She could feel that he had reservations about that but didn't voice them right off.

"Call if you need me," he added with manifest reluctance, "and I can be there in no time, there's a reason I went with the Swooping Hawk Aspect besides knowing the armor and it having spiffy wings."

He chuckled and offered an arm, ready to make the jump. Fire raged all around them by this time, though most of it was directed from the Space Wolves and the destructive leviathans.

"Alright," she replied. "Sure thing." She accepted the lift gratefully, carefully watching the enemy's movements.

Securing the armor's rifle, he swept her into his arms and bounds instantly into the sky. He truly did love this Aspect, the journey taking a mere handful of seconds at the nearly suicidal speeds capable with the gravitic wings. He touched down lightly in a brief oasis of peace perhaps fifty yards from the fleeing group and set her gently to her feet.

"For any reason," he reminded her urgently via tep, then leapt once more and was gone.

The mismatched gaggle of beings was perhaps twenty strong, though the disease riddled state of their bodies might mock that term. There was a considerably larger and repulsive creature at the center, and it was that one which holds the case for which she sought.

Tarna thanked him mentally and headed off to close the distance between herself and the ones trying to flee, weapon firmly in hand.

Despite the roughness of the intervening terrain and Tarna swearing that a herd of any analogous creature to the elephant couldn't have possibly made any more noise, she suddenly found herself caught up to them very quickly. Maybe it was the raging battle behind her or the sheer determination to escape with the prize, there was no telling.

Tarna focused on the goal, trying to cut down anything that got in her way. The spirit within tsked with mild reproval, unsure why Tarna wasn't quite living up to what it sensed she was capable of and amplified her movements in subtle and often fiendish ways.

Between the two, the last of the minions fell into a gurgling puddle of organic slush, which left only the greater of the horde yet living. It stopped, more staggering to a halt than anything else, and turned to face its follower.

It was definitely carrying the case in one of several extra hands. The origin of the thing was entirely lost to the mass of mutations which have made it a shambling horror of pustulent disease, a manifestation of that foul power surging forth in a putrid, steaming corrosive stream of phlegm and gastric juices toward Tarna.

Tarna never was exactly fond of Nurgle even when she _was_ Chaos, but she was damned well not going to let that stop her here. She tried to dodge as best as she can and leap in to swipe at the monstrous creature.

The noxious fluid was inaccurate, spraying the landscape all around in a hissing and bubbling arc that devours grass and eats into stone, the edge of it that struck Tarna's armor is enough to eat into and weaken it. Her own vicious riposte managed to shear off several of the spare limbs in a splatter of putrid gore, but it still retained a firm grip on the case, pulling it in closer to its vile body and getting it covered in slime.

Tarna thought that this was fairly disgusting and proceeded to try to pull the box away telekinetically while slashing at it again.

They closed in to more personal range, the creature swiping at Tarna with disgusting toxic pus-dribbling claws but missing entirely as her gently guiding spirit added just a little more to her own prowess, and the glowing blade dove deep into the abomination's innards. The blade ripped upward, spraying viscous goop all over the place, the creature finally releasing its prize as it dropped into a steaming ooze.

Tarna thought that this was positively disgusting. "Ugh," she muttered, trying to retrieve the case and get done with this already.

The case was easily retrieved now, though the slithering pool of mucus-like slush ebbing around her feet was repulsive, and of course the case was liberally oozing with the foul substance. In the distance, the battle continues to rage as she examined it and, true to his word, she knew precisely how to open it. How kindly cliche of Bob. Tarna tried to put the disgusting filth out of mind and proceeded to make the switch.

As soon as she opened the case, a wave of weakness and nausea rolled over her as a 'gift' from the Orb. Some of the weakness persisted even after stashing the orb and replacing it with the other. Tarna muttered a few impolite words with regards to Nurgle, grabbed the case, and stumbled to her feet again to head back toward the battle.

The battle was going relatively well, overall, as it appeared the Space Wolves have rallied other reinforcements in the meantime. Nurgle's minions continued to fight to the bitter end, however, obeying the final command of their commander before it fled in hopes of escaping with the prize. Tarna's approach went unopposed as the last remnants of the foul creatures were currently occupied by throwing themselves at the battle line.

Brighter flashes and deeper, resonant fire was still heard from one side of the field, the Wraith force continuing to wreak its own brand of havoc on those before it and slowly closing the noose on the remaining Nurglings.

Tarna approached, ready to dissect something if anything should get within reach, but figured the situation was well in hand by now.

A final thunder of fire from both sides streaked out to annihilate the remaining creatures, little left of them beyond smoking and unrecognizable chunks of flesh that didn't even have a chance to twitch on the ground.

The Wraith force ceased its forward motion, clearly, painfully outnumbered by the sheer mass of Space Wolves who showed up for the party. Neither side seemed particularly inclined to make a first move as Melaran dropped lightly to the ground nearby.

"And so returns the lady, victorious!" he tepped with glowing approval, having seen the case and the first waves of a cooling power that seemed to now flow from it. The festering hint of disease inside fled before that cool purity, Tarna's strength returning with a surge of adrenaline.

Tarna grinned and went up toward them, glancing about to the beings still standing. 

A grizzled Space Wolf in the powerful terminator armor of the Empire, its surface decorated with numerous purity sigils and honors bestowed in battle alongside its scars, pushed forward through the crowd of Marines and stopped to glare at the sleekly deadly Eldar. Dark eyes in a rough hewn and vaguely wolf-like face flickered to the case, and he growled lightly before drawing the surge of rage back by its reins.

"I've spoken to your kind in the past," he called out, the voice surprisingly clear considering the other 'deformities', "and I've yet to run across one who doesn't understand Standard when they choose to. So, are you going to return what those Chaos spawn stole, or do this the hard way?"

He seemed remarkably reasonable compared to others that Tarna has seen, though there were signs of others more inclined toward battle in the ranks.

Tarna chuckled softly. "There is no need for threats between us. You were not our enemies today." She went to return the box to him. "That Chaos was foiled this day is favorable to both of us, I believe."

A smile curled the Lord's muzzle in easy and common lines as he stalked forward to take the case back in hand, perhaps a sign of his 'corruption' that he didn't even immediately check the contents.

"Fairly said, Eldar," he replied agreeably, his voice lowering conspiratorially, "Between you and me, though some of my wolf-brothers might disagree, there's enough that know our allies on a field of battle." He stepped back. "Regardless, don't be here when the next patrol sweeps by, hear? Blood Claws bein' like any other hotblood in the galaxy they're likely to fire first and forget the questions. Your gods be with ye."

He finished and turned away, the last probably the most stunning of all with the Empire's fanatical following of the Emperor as the only 'god'. Lifting an armored fist in the air he rallied his brothers and they depart.

Not all went without a backward and wistful glance, but none were going to question their Lord in his hearing if they wanted to taste another round of mead without clutching their broken jaw in pain ever again.

Tarna's lips quirked in a faint grin as she watched them go before turning back toward the others. Melaran watched the Space Wolves depart as well, impassive beneath the cover of his helm, then turned to nod to Tarna as she approached.

"Despite our frequent clashes, I've found it rare when you run across one of the bastards that doesn't have something worthwhile about them." He chuckled and looks at her closely, then away and up to the sky. "Oh great and mighty Bob..." he began sardonically.

He got no further as the two of them found themselves returned to the playroom, no hint of the Wraithguards or 'lord to be seen. Seeing the question in the Eldar's mind, Bob shrugged.

"No sense keeping em up past their bedtimes, you don't have a clue how unpleasant those 'bodies' can be."

Tarna chuckled softly, and went to pull out the orb and hand it over to him with a grin. Bob accepted the Orb with a grin.

"Do you have any idea how boring it is to juggle two balls? On second thought, that sounded really bad!"

He snickered, drawing the other two out and tossing them in a circle between his hands, each glowing a different shade whether red, pink, or a sickly yellowish-green. The faint reek of sickness from Tarna's armor vanished, Bob courteous as he had been each time and renewing the players entirely.

He indicated the orbs with a tilt of his head, walking casually around, and a knowing grin touched his lips.

"So," he said, "Figured out who's left yet, dear Tarna? Perhaps an old 'friend' of yours? Figured I'd save the best for last."

"That one, yes..." Tarna said with a bit of a sigh.

Bob smirked, walking away from the Orbs still spinning in the air behind him, clasping hands behind his back.

"What, not anxious for a touch of vengeance?" he asked, "I know I sure was when you went along after Slaanesh, though I have to admit it took a little of anticipation out of the game for me. Just couldn't _get_ any better than that, for me. Hehe."

He walked a figure eight between the two, earning an unseen eye-roll from Melaran.

"I can't say that such would not please me." Tarna grinned faintly. "So, anything we need to know, then?"

"This is the big one," Bob said with rare seriousness, "Every one up til now has been a mere plaything in comparison to what's coming up here." He chuckled. "I won't spoil it by handing out a script, that'd be no fun at all, but I'll say that you're gonna end up deeper in the Empire than you might ever want to be. Gonna mean changing roles and reason and rhyme yet again as well. _Real_ test of your acting this time round."

"Oh, and I was just getting used to pretending to be an Eldar, too," Tarna said lightly, smirking. "What this time?" she wondered.

Bob snorted in retort. "Pretending? Dear girl, I could only wish it were true, then there'd be at least one or two of my kids with a sense of humor. More's the pity."

He sighed melodramatically, looking crestfallen, then brightened with irrepressible cheer.

"But you'll get to go back to being a plain old psychically gifted human for this one. Well, just don't make a habit out of it I guess," he snickered at some unexplained joke.

Oddly enough, she didn't seem to have much minded it anyway. She smirked a bit at him and nodded. "Okay, I guess."

Bob looked at her closely, thoughtful, then approaches. "First of all, I suppose that Selaria should also be returned to her playtime in the Infinity Circuit," he said quietly.

He reached out to touch the smooth and unscarred chest of her armor, trickles of the energy he'd bestowed seeping back out to curl about his arm. Before the last of it vanished, a gentle and wordless feeling of gratitude passed from it to Tarna. Tarna thanked Selaria silently as well before she went.

"Hmm."

Bob smirked, stepping back, playing idly with the flowing energy for a moment before returning it with a flick of fingers to its home.

"No extra players this time round, just the two of you, and you even get separate starting points. You just might be amazed what coincidences can be arranged along the way when they're needed."

Tarna watched Bob, nodding attentively to his words.

There were still some things that the Laughing God was very wary of, and the heart of the Empire itself was one of them. The humans might call their Emperor a God and worship him, and Bob wasn't about to tell them how close to true that was by this point. 

He was, without question, the single strongest psychic that this universe had ever created, his mind alone being used as the beacon that the Empire's ships used to navigate from one system to another. No, such power was not something that he would treat lightly in any regard, he might be a jester but was certainly no fool! He snorted mirthfully at the thought and looked at them.

"Why don't you kids go out for a walk while I check on a few things, hmm? Get out of the armor, stretch your legs, that kind of thing, I'll fill ya in a bit more when you get back. Take your time, this one's definitely not going anywhere."

Not seeing as the mess had begun however many thousands of years ago! Their armor vanished and he waved them toward the door.

"Shoo! Shoo! I've much to do!" and grinned as he disappeared.


	15. Romantic Respite

Tarna chuckled and shrugged and headed out quietly. "Well, this should be interesting," Tarna murmured to Melaran. "Or something of that nature."

"Interesting?" Melaran muttered and snorted, following after. "I'd say more likely mad, insane, and a number of other uncomplimentary adjectives... and that's just describing the Prankster!"

He stepped outside and stretched luxuriously, not particularly bothered by the swirling of the Warp around them any longer, it seemed.

"That, too," Tarna chuckled. "But I wouldn't miss it, nonetheless."

"Oddly enough," Melaran replied, looking over at her with a quirked grin. "Neither would I. Oh..." He waved a hand dismissively. "Not for the battle, though that's what I was born and raised for, and certainly not for that nitwit! Reasons of m'own, I'm afraid."

He chuckled and clasped his hands behind his back, walking leisurely out into the field.

Tarna strolled out not far behind and said, "Care to share?"

"Not so long ago, I didn't think I could, really," Melaran replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Have to thank the madman for that, at least. He was right, though, I really am an idiot at times and in certain ways, but at least I can be honest about it now and see what opportunities I'd passed by like a dunce."

Tarna looked at him, cocking her head a bit. "What _did_ he do to you, anyway?"

"Broke down some walls, best I can figure," Melaran said with a shrug. "Eldar are a rigidly self-disciplined lot as a whole. Comes out of being the ones who released Slaanesh in the first place. That translates into a lot of ritual and ceremony, a _lot_ of reserve, things that get in the way a lot of times. His little trick threw some of that away, leaving me to think about a lot of what I thought was true and now realize was garbage."

"Generally," Tarna said, chuckling softly. "It'd surprise a lot of Elkandu that much of what they still cling to isn't even true, or completely true in some cases. But most of them don't even realize that. I have to wonder just how many of them still refuse to acknowledge that non-inborn channelers can still learn..."

"Little of it has to do with the power, honestly," Melaran said, looking to her with a smile, "That means a lot less in the scheme of things than the soul and what shapes it, y'know? I think it basically came down to the realization that we've just gone _too far_ in repressing ourselves in an attempt to atone for past sins, thus carrying that legacy ever onward in a vicious cycle."

Tarna gave a nod. "I generally find it more useful to look to where I am and what I'm doing than to what I've done and even to what I might do at some point."

"That's sorta to the point," Melaran agreed partially. "It's important to look back at what was and make sure you don't screw up the same way again, but you can't pass up the here and now to do it! There's got to be a reason to keep on going, or what's the point of trying at all? With the insanity that's going on in this galaxy, that's probably the only reason the Eldar haven't vanished entirely."

"And the future? Heh. I might not survive the day, who knows what I might be doing a year from now?" Tarna chuckled softly. She sits down.

Melaran snorted. "You'd better survive the day and for quite some time, Tarna, or I'm going to be quite peeved. You're the only one I know of who might have any idea of what's going on in my head and how to work with it, other than maybe a Farseer and... really? I don't think I belong there anymore. Don't know where I belong, but I have some inclinations in that regard."

Tarna grinned at him. "I'll do try not to disappoint you." She winked at him. "Belonging is a strange word, really. One that I never really found much use for. Do I really belong anywhere? I don't know. I don't much care. But I am wherever I happen to be regardless. And Torn Elkandu? Don't much care for it. I'd be missing out on far too much of what the universe has to offer if I stayed around there."

"So wander around it and show a stranger a few of its bright spots?" Melaran asked with a grin. "I think old crazy and stirred back there owes me at least one favor, I don't think it'd be too much to ask for a ship that could take us anywhere you might think to go. There's some really nice ones out there, with room for two, if you're not planning on another crazy game or have other plans anyway..."

Tarna grinned. "I think I'd like that, yeah."

"Then you're stuck with one recently befuddled and sometimes idiotic Eldar for a while, at least till you get bored," Melaran said softly, "Couldn't think of any place I'd rather be, really, beats hell out of wandering around this crazy place alone and hey, at least we'd be around to cover each other's backs. Right?"

"The universe is a big place," Tarna said. "Even with all the bouncing around I did under Sardill's curse, I can't say I've seen even a small sliver of it yet, either..."

"Neither have I and it's been..." Melaran stopped and thought about it a second, "Huh, can't remember offhand how long I've been jumping from place to place here. Thousand years? Less than two for sure, still a long, long way to go unless something decides to get a hankering for a bite of Eldar along the way." He chuckled.

Tarna chuckled. "Heh. I'm just a spring chicken at fifty-five, myself. Though considering all the crap I went through it feels like it should be longer..."

"Gotta find some good to outweigh that bad, then," Melaran replied with a smile. "No better way to do it than to go jaunting about the galaxy with friends, even if they're older than you. Saw and learned a lot of things while working as a Guardian, and while good ol' 'Bob' might have shaken some of it loose there's still some good memories there."

"Yeah, generally try to avoid being tortured and killed if you can at all help it, it's not a great way to start the day," Tarna said lightly. "But, it's not a worry. I did pick up some mental techniques at some point or another to keep myself sane. Or at least relatively sane. Then again, considering the Elkandu, I'm comparatively an absolute rock of lucidity."

"You sell yourself short, Tarna," Melaran scolded gently. "You have spoken of villains to rival any I have ever encountered, and just toss off mentions of torture with a shrug, you are a far more brave and courageous woman than you admit to. Who else would have saved some scruffy Eldar slave they didn't even know from a horrid fate in a place where no one cares?" He smirked.

Tarna gave a faint smile and looked at the ground. "Well, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And I'd do it again a thousand times over even if it meant my own life."

"Don't we just make the pair, then?" Melaran snorted in amusement. "As I'd say to leave that damn Eldar to his fate before losing your own life. Do try not to get us into a situation where that comes up, won't you? I do kinda like living, but there's definitely some things I'd die for without a second thought."

"Elkandu don't fear death," Tarna said slowly. "The one certainty every Elkandu has is rebirth. They've even come up with mental techniques to restore memories of past lives, too."

"Well, that certainly puts a new spin on it," Melaran mused with deliberate exaggeration, rubbing his chin and tapping his foot, then shook his head. "Nope, still can't say I'd want you to do it. It just..." He shrugged. "Wouldn't be the same. Call it a genetic or racial throwback, but I didn't lose the Eldar willingness to sacrifice anything to protect what's most important."

Tarna chuckled softly. "And then, on top of that, those of the Elkandu skilled with working with souls can resurrect the dead and restore life to their bodies. And there's a couple of them actually capable of forming a new body entirely from scratch..."

Melaran considered that for a moment, brow quirking up in amusement as he looked down at her. "Umm, not sure that going over the various ways to come back from the dead is perhaps the most cheerful and heartening topic to get on when we're in the end stages of this crazy game, and even Bob the Mad is starting to get nervous. Don't know about you, but that just seems a little like a Bad Thing."

Tarna giggled softly. "Bah, hell if I know what'd happen if I died in this crazy universe here, anyway." She shrugged. "But I'm hardly going to dwell on it anymore than usual. Abyss, you know, there's even some Elkandu who are strong enough to prevent themselves from actually dying, too. Suzcecoz, for instance. She's kind of weird, though. Always building one thing or another..."

"Well, that's slightly better, at least." Melaran chuckled. "A bit of a laugh and thinking over the odd beings that run around the galaxy that sounds at least as strange as this one, if a bit less prone to uncontrolled bouts of rage, melancholy, and stupidity on a racial and cosmic scale."

"Slightly," Tarna commented. "Though we did once accidentally destroy the universe. Well, I say 'we' although it was a couple hundred years before my time. It was called the Planar Wars. Nasty business, that. Keolah fixed part of it, then Suzcecoz tried to manipulate the future to save the universe, and a hundred years later Shazmar fixed everything with a wave of his hand and declared it all a cosmic joke."

Melaran snorted, "Well now I can certainly see why you have regularly compared the great Buffoon to this Shazmar. It makes you wonder if you have to be crazy to be a God, or if it's being a God that makes you crazy!" He thought about that, then hmmed, "Though I suppose if the Prankster is telling the truth and Khaine is running out and about again it'll be a good test of which is which. Bloody? Sure. Crazy? Not really."

"Heh... Shazmar..." Tarna sent him a mental image of what appears to be a child who would be around five years old in human terms, with golden-blond hair, silver-blue eyes, pointy ears, floating around two feet above the ground, licking a large multicolored lollipop, and giggling.

"Oh don't ever show that to Him!" Melaran laughed. "It evokes both innocence and a devilish nature all in one, I think that the day those two ever meet is going to be one that we should both be very far, very very far away. Hidden where the catastrophe that's sure to follow may never find us!"

"I concur completely. Preferably in another universe entirely," Tarna said. "I hear the Karzan Galaxy's nice this time of year. It's only got an enormous Chaos fleet, after all, and no humorous deities."

"Sounds delightful," Melaran replied dryly, then chuckled quietly. "Should probably see what His Craziness is up to, no telling what might happen if he starts bouncing off the walls. But, one more thing..."

He reaches down and trails a fingertip lightly along her elegantly arched ear to its tip.

"You make a beautiful and refreshing Eldar... and not too terribly bad for a human."

Tarna grinned, blushing and looking at the ground, "I..." She failed, however, to come up with a reply.

"What, no witty comeback?" Melaran replied with gentle humor, "No ready reply? Is this truly the woman that I have come to admire beyond reason, at a loss for words? I'd almost start thinking you were turning into me before I came to my senses."

Tarna giggled softly and looked back up at him. "But I'm not," she murmured. "Far be it from me to pretend to be what I'm not." She sighed and looked at the ground again, almost sadly.

Crouching down, resting his arms on his thighs, Melaran looked at her with quiet intensity. "Why the sudden fit of near-melancholy, Tarna? I would never cause you such if it's in my power. Tell me what I have done or said that has caused it, and I shall banish it henceforth, I swear it. Please... talk to me?"

Tarna looked back up at him, "Oh, it's not you, don't worry." She smiled faintly at him.

"Then what is it?" Melaran asked gently. "I would at least know the dragons which haunt you, what good a knight without horrors to slay? I am here and listening, if you will let me."

"But I'm _not_ an Eldar though, you know..." Tarna murmured.

Melaran let out a held breath and chuckled. "Is that all that worries you? I've known that for how long now, and still..." He shook his head and smiled, "My kin would surely disown me, and yet I see nothing save a soul beyond the most subtle of beauty. Is that, then, so wrong?"

"That wasn't really what I..." Tarna murmured, then shook her head and sighed. "You can't stick feathers up your butt and call yourself a chicken."

Melaran settled gracefully to the ground, drawing a leg up beneath him and content to settle in and forget about Bob and saving the universe for now.

"Okay," he said with a measure of humor. "I'll admit that made no sense to me on many levels. Would you like to try again and explain what's bothering you? I am still here, and waiting, as I first asked and was allowed."

Tarna smirked. "I suppose it shouldn't bother me, all things considered, especially when there's people like Harmony running around..." Uh-oh, she said that name...

"Then what is it?" Melaran prodded lightly, "You have to remember that I'm just a poor, lost Eldar waif stranded in the swirling Warp with no hope of salvation beyond the whims of a madman. And I would very much like to know what's troubling you. I suppose I _could_ read your mind, but that wouldn't be very sporting, would it?" he finished with faint humor.

Tarna chuckled again. "Must I? I suppose," she murmured, and looks at herself absently. "And this? I could get used to it. But you can't stick pointy ears on somebody and call them an Eldar. Can you?"

Melaran snorted lightly. "And you can't truly call me an Eldar anymore either, not that any of them would accept. I would be branded an outcast and probably killed if I went back." The momentary scorn of the idea faded and he asked gently, "Is it what _I_ am that troubles you, Tarna? If so, then..." He shook his head and sighed. "That I can't change for anything, and I will never speak of this again if that is what you truly wish."

"Not at all," Tarna said. "Not you, never. Heh, the Elkandu rarely seem to care much about race. Aside from that arsewipe Aitur. But some of them seem to change their form as often as most people would change their clothes. They say the flesh and blood don't matter so much as the mind and soul."

"Then... what?" Melaran asked softly, "I've already said that it doesn't matter, that you were honest and forthright about it from the beginning and still. I wish that you could find the words to explain it to me, knowing all too well the pain such a lack can cause."

Tarna smiled gently at him and said, "Don't worry. There's ways around that." She sighed a bit.

Melaran sighed quietly, then dredged forth a ghost of a smile. "I'm sorry. I did something, said something I shouldn't have, and whatever the reason to it I brought you to the same melancholy that plagues my own race. That is a burden I would never have given you, never in the long years of my life would I have meant to, and ask only that you might forgive me my folly. I... won't say anything more about it, I promise."

"No, no, you didn't, I swear," Tarna said, laughing. "Here..."

She proceeded to try to explain wordlessly what was on her mind, thoughts and feelings. She cared about him quite a bit, it seemed. And she had apparently come to respect the Eldar too much to try to imitate one where she was not, even if she might prefer it. Melaran made no attempt to dissuade the contact, her first reaction leaving him confused even further and vainly trying to understand. He rocked backward, quietly joyful and yet still confused in some ways, trying to sort it out.

"Then," he tried after a moment, "It's just a matter of respecting the Eldar too much to accept a form? That's all? My playful compliment stirred this entirely?" 

He frowned and rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of it still.

"No, not you, nothing you said," Tarna said. "Just something that's been on my mind. Well, in the moments between trying to avoid getting killed at any rate."

"Only the soul, Tarna," Melaran said gently, "I meant when I said that, and nothing has changed since... well, yeah, He messed with my head and straightened some things out, but nothing that changes _that_. It is your very fire and spirit that have inspired my admiration, anything else..." He offered a single-handed shrug. "Does it really matter?"

She sighed softly, grinning a bit. "I suppose not."

"Here," Melaran said quietly, "Allow me to share the same that you gave to me..."

The mental touch was tentative, but grew stronger as he allowed memory and emotion to flow along the connection, revealing the admiration and deepening respect which began to grow within the vile lands of the Dark Eldar.

There was more to it, though, continuing through the separation as she met the Blood Angels and his growing anger and frustration with the clown that merely watched and laughed as she worked her way through the bloody puzzle. Emotions of pity and an even greater deepening of admiration, and sudden fear for her that led to his _assaulting_ Bob. 

There was very little in it that focused on the physical, though there was undoubtedly growing attraction as well that was honed by the deeper emotions and pushed to look beyond the bounds of mere race, and none of it possible to express to the reserved and society-bound Eldar which he was. For that, if nothing else, he felt gratitude toward the mad god.

The connection faded and he looked away, the welling emotion draining him by degrees. "I..." he began, then simply shrugged.

Tarna looked at him silently for a long moment, and reached out and touched his hand, smiling at him warmly. She didn't feel that words could adequately reply to that.

Melaran looked back at her, turning his hand upward to lightly fold around hers. "Does that make it clear, Tarna?" he asked softly, "I can bare the soul no more than that, I think, without turning it inside out and emptying it entirely."

She squeezed his hand gently. "Clear as the skies of Hasaris," she said, smiling at him.

"Oh for the love of me," the ever-familiar voice grated at Melaran's nerves and he twitched visibly. "Don't tell me you finally got all that silly angst and melancholy nonsense out of the way! Glad of it! Ech, that's enough to make me want to puke!"

Bob was casually leaning against the door frame nearby, smiling at the two of them with faintly paternal fondness and a hint of smug complacency.

"Prankster," Melaran said quietly, "Your timing is execrable, as always."

Though Melaran did chuckle softly. He didn't move to rise immediately, instead raising her hand to kiss it lightly and rest it for a moment against his cheek.

Tarna giggled in amusement, not bothered by his interruption at all. In fact, she was fairly used to it by now, considering how many times Shazmar decided to make his presence known at an embarrassing moment.

"Though I might want to kill you," Melaran said with mock severity, "I suppose I do owe you for something very, very important."

He kissed the inside of her wrist with a gentle moment's lingering, a smile brushing his lips as he rose with restrained elegance.

"Damn straight you do," Bob replied with a smirk. "Kicked some blocks out on the tongue, did I? Could come in handy later..." He looked between the two in obvious suggestion, then snickered. "Anyway, I think you kids have had enough of a break, ready for some more fun?"

Tarna grinned broadly, standing up. "I do believe so, yes."


	16. Inquisition

"Welladay, calloo callay," Bob said with no apparent rhyme or reason.

Bob led his two playmates back into the shack, and snagged the three Orbs which had continued to juggle themselves mid-air in his absence.

"Been poking my nose here and there to see just what's been going on lately and whether I can set the game to playing as I had intended. Unsurprisingly," he grinned, looking over at them, "I do believe the show can go on!"

"Sit, sit!" He waved them to a couple of chairs that appeared out of thin air. "This is going to take a bit of explaining, or at least a few tidbits that you should probably know beforehand if you don't want to end up getting shipped back here in a really small and mangled box."

He leapt up to sit on a table, crossing his legs and settling into an easy return to the juggling.

"Let's see... first off, let's get both of you into appropriate costumes."

Tarna was growing accustomed to the changes by now, even if it might seem a bit weird still, and she found herself once again a human. The ever thoughtful mirror that Bob provided revealed that she was much as before except for her attire which consisted of an elaborately decorated white habit, various accessories dangling from a chain at her waist including a heavy book. She 'recognized' it as the apparel of an Inquisition Abbess.

Melaran got the better of the deal, after a fashion, being returned to the light and graceful armor of the Swooping Hawk Aspect warriors, but the wings were the larger and more ornate curves of an Exarch.

Tarna examined herself and muttered, "I'm a nun? Great..." She snickered and looked over at Melaran appraisingly.

"Nuns with guns," Bob replied with an edged grin, which vanished as quickly as the Orbs he'd been juggling, and he hopped back off the table. "You're probably not going to like them much. They're really not any better than the Dark Eldar in a lot of ways, but without the S&M lifestyle." He smirked. "Not my favorite people, but hey, what can ya really say about a group that hunts down anything that their 'holy writs' says to and tortures them? All in the name of purification and salvation."

He snorted and shook his head and waved a dismissive hand.

"Anyway, you know enough about them to play the role you're going to need to. Just think about what you're doing and you just might hear a little voice in your head volunteering some information." Chuckling, he looked over at the Eldar, then back to Tarna. "You're going to be starting on opposite sides in this one."

"Gonna have to trust that I know what I'm doing and things won't go beyond the," he paused and threw his hands to his face and donned an expression of horror, "'Oh My God! I'm Gonna Die!' stage too often..." He chuckled and shook his head, "No promises in this one, though, you're goin' places that I don't poke too closely into, not wise to do when you specialize in working from different angles."

"Oh, yes, this sounds positively exciting," Tarna said with her usual levels of sarcasm.

"Delightful," Melaran replied with a snort and rolled his eyes, not really happy with the idea but willing to give the mad God the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't sure if that spelled out growing acceptance, utter insanity, or perhaps just a sudden center of calm and quiet contentment. Didn't know, didn't really care at the moment.

"Oh, don't ya know it!" Bob replied with a return to bubbling enthusiasm, "At least you won't have to carry around some silly fake orb this time, Tarna."

He marched over and examined Melaran, the Eldar rising to his feet to return the look levelly.

"That'll work," Bob said, licking one side of the Orb and then sticking it _into_ the armor's chest where it appears to be nothing more than a softly glowing ornament.

"You'll want that later," he said, looking over at Tarna with a grin. "It's a gift and I think you'll figure out for who. You'll just have to figure out how to make sure it gets to him."

Tarna nodded, not really understanding, but he hadn't steered her wrong yet so she wasn't about to question him. "Anything else?"

Bob hmmed and clasped his hands behind his back, deliberately thoughtful, "Other than a warning to mind your roles, nope!" The carefully crafted expression vanished at the last into a grin. "Be good practice in quite a few ways, for both of you. Lots of fun, all round..." he pouted, "And I won't even be able to watch a lot of it!" Waving it away dismissively, he opened a portal, "Head on through when you're ready." Then he vanished.

"That's reassuring," Tarna said in a tone that seems to indicate it was anything but. She took a deep breath and heads for the portal.

"Indeed," Melaran replied quietly, examining his helmet before securing it in place and treading after, pausing at the portal to add, "Be careful, Tarna, I'll see you on the other side."

He nodded to her, then stepped through the portal without another pause or hesitation, vanishing off to his own role.

Tarna, upon stepping through, found herself in a quiet room, the overall drabness seeming to scream 'prefab' with all its might. It appeared to be a medical center of some sort, though her mind suggested that it has less to do with healing than the 'purifying' that Bob had mentioned before. Several others in lower-ranking 'uniforms' of the Inquisition were going about arranging recently arrived equipment but hadn't noticed her yet.

Tarna looked around to try to get a feel for the vicinity and see about finding out what was going on now. She was free to explore as she wished as she found quickly enough, those around reacting to her with recognition and varying degrees of respect depending on the rank of the individual.

One of the technicians did approach and offered a bow. "Many pardons, Abbess, you asked me to remind you when the attack was near and I believe that the Grey Knights and others of the Order should be nearly assembled by now."

Tarna nodded to them and said, "Excellent. Carry on." She went to see what was up with this attack business.

This building was obviously constructed for specific use of 'her' Order, a Standard design that she remembered perfectly well the path out of. She recognized several other purpose-specific areas on the way, mostly set aside for dealing with the heretics which they might be called upon to deal with in the name of the Emperor on any world. The day beyond was bright and cheerful, seeming at odds with the purposeful machine of war assembling.

Terminator-suited Grey Knights were loading into the Rhinos that would transport them to the battlefield, but their numbers were relatively small in comparison to the mass of Ultramarines loading with methodical and long familiar precision. All appeared as it should be, as one of the lesser of her Order passed among the transports and offered potent blessings in the Emperor's name.

A lighter-armored Knight approaches and saluted her. "Your transport is ready, Abbess, if you will follow me?"

"Very well," she said, proceeding to do so. She tried not to dwell too much on what Bob had said.

Tarna was lead to a command vehicle and shown to a seat appropriate to her position, able to watch all those within while the armored Knights were within close reach should any emergency arrive. The force commander signalled the advance, and the massive vehicles lurched forward and onward. It seemed an eternity later to her much shaken self when the vehicle came to a stop and the platoon's commander ushered the Knights out the rear hatch.

The obvious expectation was that she would follow, and the view when she did was breathtaking. Below the hilltop where some of the heavy tanks had stopped and slammed supports into the ground in preparation to fire, lush forest encircled a shining arc of Eldar technology, a Warp Gate. Even as she looked, forces moved from the portal in an elegant stream, though in far fewer numbers than might be expected against the force they face.

"Oh, Abyss," Tarna thought absently when she saw them. She took a moment to wonder about her objective here, and tried to see if she could spot Melaran.

Tarna was provided with a communication's device and the force commander ceded control of the smaller units of the Grey Knights to her without qualm or thought of hesitation. He would command the larger part of the forces, but it would be her duty to direct the Knights in the most efficient manner to destroy the ranks of the heretics in the Emperor's name. The thunder of long-range guns sounded nearby as she watched below.

Their effect was negligible at this point, mostly ranging shots, and she recognized the fact along with a suddenly detailed and thorough knowledge of the best possible uses of her forces. It was odd, to find herself suddenly aware of how best to defeat her 'foes'. The Eldar below spread out with calm efficiency, their close-combat units leaping forward to rush out and meet the ground forces of the Empire while heavier vehicles appeared at the Gate.

The Eldar forces were not greatly outnumbered and had speed and finesse on their side, but the dauntless savagery of the Space Marines paid that no heed as the battle swirled into motion. Slimmer, more elegant winged figures appeared alongside the recently arrived Fire Prisms, their wings shimmering in the bright morning light as they bounded into the air and go to meet their enemies.

Tarna found herself quite unwilling to destroy these Eldar, practically screaming in her mind against the very idea.

Swooping Hawks descended on the flanks of the standard Ultramarine troops as they engaged in close combat with Striking Scorpions and Guardians, their fleet movement used with deadly effect against the slower troops before they leapt lightly away and into the clear again. Eldar light units relied on speed and mobility more than most, their graceful style lending itself more readily to that than the brutal determination of the Empire forces.

The slower and heavier elements of the Empire were coming into play, dreadnoughts wading into the fray smashed their smaller opponents like eggshells beneath their onslaught, and the heavy weapon squads traded fire with their Eldar counterparts with deadly effect. Searing light lanced out from the sleek Eldar tanks, both converging to ravage a path of the hillside and reducing one of the Empire tanks to molten slag.

The Grey Knights moved readily forward at Tarna's command, though their unit commanders displayed momentary dismay at the less than ideal approach she ordered them to follow. Tarna decided that she didn't really like this part of the game one bit.

As the battle continued, the heavier weight of the Empire forces began to wear away at their more agile opponents, shattering the cohesion of one unit after another with hideous efficiency. The weight of the dreadnoughts hammered through the lighter elements, their impact the final tolling of the bell for the defending forces as a whole.

Chaos engulfed the battlefield as time passed, impossible to distinguish one moment from the next as death ran rampant through both sides. The Eldar did what they could, even the Swooping Hawks at last dispensing with their flickering assaults to stand against the onslaught of the wave of Marines seeming intent on destroying the Farseer commanding their force. 

That all-important figure retreated at the last, ushered away by the squad of Guardians assigned to him, and the portal fell still as they passed through it to leave those who still stood behind. Those remaining knew and accepted what had happened, their duty driving them ever harder in their battle against the Marines with now-reckless abandon. 

The tide broke against the shoals of the final circle of the defenders, the few remaining Aspect Exarchs throwing aside their longer-ranged weapons in favor of slender and deadly closer-combat equivalents. At the last, even their fury was dimmed and beaten down, the ocean sweeping over the few that remain.

Tarna _really_ didn't like this part of the "game". She did, at least, manage to avoid letting that on. But she was still pretty upset.

All that remained after was cleanup, though Tarna knew that there was a specific reason that the Inquisition had assigned even this significant a force to the action. Normally Grey Knights were sent out to battle the forces of Chaos, well trained and protected against the magic and sorcery that those minions of darkness spawned, this battle was a highly-unusual one for them.

The assignment, though she didn't know the reasoning behind it, was to return with what survivors remained of the Eldar force after battle, to keep the normal mercy killings from occurring in favor of the Order's own purpose. There would undoubtedly be some few out there who suffered injuries but yet lived, whether through good or ill fortune, and it was her duty to find and scourge their taint on her return journey.

Tarna continued to be not happy about the situation, but at least she didn't run off and do anything stupid. Instead she just glared sourly at people who probably wouldn't be overly surprised at her glaring sourly at anyway.

The Grey Knight Captain assigned to Tarna reported in crisply, the units already aware of their additional duty and moving to attend to it with grim efficiency. Only a handful of surviving Eldar were found, all within the circle of that final stand, but they were brought up as soon as each was found and stripped of any weapons which the warriors were quite readily familiar with.

One survivor was familiar to her, though clearly in no better shape than the others as the Hawk armor had been pitted by bolter fire and blackened to char by fusion weapons. The only part of Melaran's armor untouched was the softly glowing dome of the Orb at the center of his armor, and the Knights were talking in low tones about its 'feel' as they carry him to a transport.

Tarna's eyes rested on Melaran for a long moment, and she glared sourly at the ones talking, because she could.

"Abbess." The Captain approached and gestured respectfully. "Four were still breathing when we found them, though there's something odd about the armor on the one that feels wrong somehow. Maybe something the Order wants to look at closer, or something that should be destroyed. What do you want us to do with it?"

Behind him, the survivors were being dumped unceremoniously on the ground and left for now, a couple staying to guard them.

"I will deal with it myself," Tarna said firmly, going to look them over slowly.

Unsurprisingly, the four in question all bore the distinctive armor of Exarchs of their Aspects, their heavier armor allowing for greater damage to be absorbed than by the lesser of their numbers. All were in similarly battered condition, though the heavy streaks of gore they bore showed that they did not fall without demanding a high price from those who had attacked them and that the Gate was now lifeless a testament to success of a degree.

She quirked her lips as she looked at them but didn't say anything, and then went to look at Melaran with clear interest.

"Careful, ma'am," one of the guardian Knights warned with clear deference. "Those were the last four standing. Wouldn't get too close until they're stripped and cleansed."

He wasn't too obviously concerned, but showing proper caution and concern for a superior. Tarna waved her hand dismissively in his general direction without turning to look.

The Knight said nothing more, merely returning to watchful attention, alert for any signs of movement that might indicate wakefulness on the part of the Eldar. The subjects of her scrutiny, however, did not show any ready signs of any such inclination, their injuries likely sufficient beneath their scarred armor to leave them unconscious for some time. The Knight Captain strode nearby, chivvying his men to order for the return to base.

Tarna stood there staring at them, thinking, "I don't want to play with the lives of good people..."

She stared at Melaran and wondered just what it was she's supposed to do. No guidance was forthcoming from beyond herself, unfortunately, at least until the Captain returned and came to attention.

"We're ready to return, Abbess," he said with crisp formality. "Have you completed your inspection to your satisfaction? We need to load them aboard and head back."

"Very well," Tarna said reluctantly. "Carry on." She turned away, glowering.

The Captain nodded sharply and set things in motion, having the Eldar bound securely and loaded aboard a transport for the return trip to base. Artificers would strip their armor away later and examine it more closely while the heretics themselves would be left to the tender mercies of Chaplains and others skilled in the forms of purification.


	17. For the Emperor

The return trip was no less jarring than the one out, and the Grey Knights carried the captives into the building designated for the Order's use in obedience of long-standing protocol to set matters along. Tarna had decided that she did not like this place. In fact, she did not like this universe overly much, for that matter.

Artificers did their jobs, removing the Eldar's armor piece by piece while chanting low prayers to the Emperor for protection from the taint of the unclean. They carried the four suits into a nearby room for further study, leaving the matter of the battered and bloody captives to others more suited and familiar with such things. Knights remained vigilantly on guard throughout, knowing the deceitful ways of the Eldar too well.

Several journeyman Apothecaries took over the task of seeing to the worst of wounds with impersonal efficiency, fully aware that these specimens were desired alive for further purpose later. Tarna stalked about, glaring at everything and being in general unhappy.

Some time later, despite the apparent impatience of the Abbess watching over them there was only so much which could be done to hurry things along, the senior of the medics approached Tarna.

"Abbess," he said respectfully, wiping blood from his hands on a towel, "We've done as much as we can for now. One..." He shook his head. "Don't think he'll survive, too much blood lost. Had to amputate two arms and one leg, but they're alive and should recover well enough to be put to purification in a day or two."

Tarna insisted on looking them over herself.

"Of course," he replied readily and leads her over, to the questionable one first. "As you can see," he dropped into crisp professional manner, indicating the stripped Eldar, a sheet draped over him doing little to conceal the absence of an arm and leg, "This heretic sustained considerable damage, he appears to have been partially crushed by a massive weight, perhaps a dreadnought stepping on him. He will likely not survive."

The smell of antiseptic and gore mingle sickeningly with a sweet incense burning in a brazier nearby as he showed her two of the others, both subject to considerable damage from plasma and bolter fire and the one with a missing arm as well. Melaran was familiar as the last, and he was no less injured than the others with multiple wounds and a ragged line of flesh melted across shoulder and chest by plasma.

"The three will definitely survive," the Apothecary concluded, "I can't guarantee the efficiency of the Standard regenerative treatments on their physiology, but first impressions would seem to confirm my first assessment of a few days at most before they will be sufficiently recovered for interrogation."

"Very well," she said harshly, turning to head for the door.

Time passed slowly for Tarna, only her inner demons to keep her company where someone normally with her rank would be attending to meditations and prayer to the Emperor to prepare for the interrogations which would follow. After the first day, the force commander commed her to report that the fleet they had travelled with was ready to accept transport, the ship that the Order had provided would be the destination of she and the Eldar.

The transfer was completed with usual efficiency and the Navigators of the fleet focused on the Beacon to align them with their designated path. The translation into the Warp was rough as was common, but the remaining time until the prisoners were deemed recovered passed without incident. She received a polite summons on the third day, an invitation to oversee the process to come. She went along bitterly, quietly dreading this all. She wished that this were all over with already.

Tarna arrived at what she would otherwise classify as a sick-bay, having all the usual native charm of that sort of thing and men in flowing robes muttering to themselves wandering here and there. The true purpose was more sinister, she knew, as the nature of the crude instruments present makes all too clear the type of 'purification' that Bob had himself mentioned with a hint of bitterness.

A table and chair were bolted to the deck, the bindings chained to them indicative of their use, while a cross-frame all too reminiscent of the one used by the Dark Eldar stood nearby with cold menace.

"Ah, welcome Abbess!" one of the robed men greeted her cheerfully. "Great work ahead of us this day, I assure you! The heretics have been most uncooperative and unruly, the Rite should break them of that soon enough."

Tarna clenched a fist, hardly sharing that cheerfulness.

The man blinked at her in confusion, the blank response certainly not what he had expected but perhaps some result of the woman's recent harrowing experiences on the planet behind them? That rationalization reached, he shrugged and turned to a guard at a nearby door.

"Bring one of them, we will begin immediately now that the Abbess has arrived."

The guard returned in short order, manhandling a familiar Eldar dressed in a formless robe. Melaran's hands were manacled behind him, a stout chain securing tightly to a collar at both his neck and waist, but he seemed oblivious of the intended humiliation as he walked with his head held high and disdainful of those who surrounded him. His eyes narrowed briefly as he saw the Abbess, then his attention was drawn away as he was dragged to the frame.

"You should go now, Tarna," came a gentle wisp of thought, "Find the Orb and don't return here."

"I won't just leave him here," Tarna thought fervently.

Melaran's bindings were released only to be returned as he was bound to the frame, and the robe was removed with practical casualness. The 'interrogator' handed the guard a multi-thonged scourge, which the heavily built Knight looped at his wrist and tested the instrument's balance with practiced form.

"Leave, please," came a gentle pleading, "They won't kill me, I know this, and anything less is irrelevant."

"There's more to this than we know right now, the Laughing God warned us. You must get the Orb and be ready for whatever must ultimately happen. I..." the contact hesitated, then continued, "I would not have you see this, not when it must be. Just go, I beg of you. Now!"

Tarna clenched her fists for a moment and turned away, thinking that if she had to she'd doubtless snap regardless. Clenching her teeth, she tepped to him, "I love you." And then stormed out of the vicinity.

The Inquisitor watched her leave with puzzlement, then returned to the task at hand and motioned the guard to his work. Melaran was able, for a time, to retreat into the depths of silence and meditation and self-discipline that were still a part of him, focusing on her last words and drawing strength from the well of emotion which allows for greater effort. They were, however, experts at their work and it was ultimately futile to resist.

Time passed for Tarna with sickening slowness, though she was at least able to retrieve the Orb without any great difficulty as her presumed and readily accepted and verifiable rank commanded nothing less than absolute obedience from any aboard this ship. Their destination was weeks away though, and the thought of the continuing 'purification' of the captives rested heavily on her soul.

At last the ship arrived in orbit above the very heart of the Empire, and even through her shielding Tarna could feel a vast and powerful hint of presence from somewhere below as she was led to a shuttle which would take her to the final stop of her trial. A sallow, gray bearded man with prosthetics implanted in many places greeted her with a thin smile upon her arrival.

"Well done, Sister," he said, without sign of the deference she'd been due until now, her memory supplying an identification for him as Archbishop Manixus. "Come, come." He gestured her to follow. "The heretics will arrive shortly and I'm certain you'll wish to view the result of our experiment in the Emperor's holy name."

Tarna followed after him, restraining herself from attacking him or anything like that, much as she was tempted to. This was not the time or place for rash actions, however, so she buried her feelings well and locked them away in her heart. Manixus led her through echoing halls that passed far below the earth and deep into the heart of the Imperial complex itself.

"As you know," he said conversationally along the way. "The Emperor fell long ago to powers most foul, and has since been able to continue blessing us with His presence only through the assistance of the Golden Throne. The throne, of course, is provided with sacrifices worthy of Him, rogue Psykers and the like who are unwilling to submit otherwise to His commandments. Their life force has barely sufficed these long years to sustain Him, much less aid in His recovery that His long slumber might end at last. It was to this purpose that your mission was sent out to retrieve samples of the heretic Eldar, that we might see if the energies of their unnaturally-long lives might serve the purpose better. You performed marvelously, Sister, returning not one but three that might be delivered unto Him for salvation of their souls!"

Tarna did not trust herself to give a reply. She also would very much like them all to die about now. She was glad that no one was likely to be reading her mind without her knowing it, with her quietly fantasizing about the horrible deaths of anyone who would consider live sacrifices, whatever the species, to be an acceptable thing.

The Archbishop paid no particular attention to her reticence, not as the surrounding architecture becomes progressively more ornate and fantastic, perhaps attributing it to simple religious awe at the opportunity to enter that holiest of presences. That presence could be felt more strongly as they reached a great antechamber and proceed into a grand, echoing hall, the throne sitting at its heart.

The Golden Throne was perhaps a simplification of description, as there were four mountainous pillars that surround it at each corner and seem to hold the arched ceiling at bay. At the center was an ornately carved throne upon which a golden armored man seems to be sleeping. He was massively proportioned, even by Space Marine standards, and the spiked halo arching over his head as part of the armor added a nearly angelic aspect.

That aspect was dimmed by recognition of the Orb that was set in a clawed hand directly behind him, a malevolent eye crackling with the power lent to it by the titanic soul furnaces nearby. Movement drew attention as the three surviving Eldar were drawn into the Imperial Presence and pushed roughly toward the pillars.

Tarna... stared. She was already long sick to death of this game, but now... the objective here? This was insane. She had to wonder what the hell was really going on here. And didn't trust Tzeentch an inch.

Manixus watched Tarna with a paternal smile, the look bestowed upon a well favored and cherished daughter, though it faded to a harsh speculation at the direction of her gaze. There was indeed far more going on here than any other save he was aware of, and long-held paranoia at discovery bubbled like a black pool in his heart. He turned to her, a heavy psychic hand pressing at the walls of her mental barriers and digging into them.

"What are you looking at, girl?" he asked in a soft, dangerous hiss, his mind driving deeper and seeking for the answer he sought. A tendril crept past and he sucked in a breath, "You..." he faltered, hatred and paranoia rising in a crescendo within him and about to break forth in a storm of psychic violence at the glimpse.

Tarna snapped her head around to him. "Corruption runs this deep? Back off, you traitor, and don't touch me with your foul powers!"

"So it would seem," Manixus replied with heated venom, a crackle of energy appearing around him that has more in common with the final Orb than would be considered healthy, in fact seeming to draw some measure of power from the foul construct. "You do not know the meaning of power, foolish child, but you will assuredly learn the error of your ways."

Even the psychic blind guards preparing to place the Eldar in the pillars couldn't help but notice the crackling of power and turned uncertainly in that direction.

"No," came a rigidly controlled familiar voice, though Tarna could hear the quivering of hate and rage in the more subtle inflections as Melaran continued. "You shall not touch her, Chaos spawn."

Faint light glowed in his eyes as the rage built, overcoming the drugs they had used. Sparks hissed and threw his guard heedlessly aside as he stalked forward, the blaze of his eyes deepening.

"You. Shall. NOT. Touch her."

Manixus blinked and turned toward the sudden surge of raw Power echoing from the Eldar, his own controlled energies crackling in uncertainty and flickering as psychic energies start to coalesce throughout the room.

"NEVER!" Melaran shouted out, the word rising to a shattering scream as pure, raw _fury_ flowed from him and ignited the consuming energies of a Psychic Storm that surged out to hungrily seek those which might oppose the Will behind them.

Tarna thought, "Ho-lee shit." Never one to waste an opportunity, she tried to scramble to make use of the distraction and snag the orb. Well. A little more than a "distraction". But still.

The power flowed in a tidal wave that rolled over and devoured the very minds that it struck at, ripping them to shreds with the pent rage of the past hellish weeks of torment and the barest thought of loss. It passed the Eldar and Tarna without pausing, but left the guards and the corrupted Archbishop quite, quite dead. 

She could hear one of the older Eldar comment with quiet awe, recognizing the fury called upon by their Farseers and they'd not even known that their path had converged with such a one. The energy faded and then died out as she snatched the Orb, but another more curious attention turned on to both of them as silence descends.

"I certainly won't touch her," came a mirthful mental contact that reached them both easily. Its source, she realized as a gauntleted hand stretched and then closed again on the arm of the throne, was the Emperor himself!

Tarna blinked in surprise and looked over at the figure. "You're..." Tarna murmured, and then failed to find words.

The Emperor did not move beyond gazing serenely from Tarna to Melaran, his gaze thoughtful for a moment at that and the display of power he had felt, then returned to her once more.

"You have nothing to fear from me, girl," he continued via tep to both with a frank reassurance attached emotionally. "You have saved a great deal of trouble in destroying yet another who had betrayed me so very long ago." His gaze sharpened as he lifted a brow. "Though I would wonder what brought you to do this. I can feel someone watching from afar, even now, but they are quite slippery and elusive, would it be this entity which sent you? You and your companion are certainly not subjects of this Empire."

"Yes," she replied. "We come to root out the corruption of the dark gods. We-- We mean you no harm..."

"I know this well." The Emperor laughed in their minds. "Yet I sense that any explanation may wait another time." Looking into her eyes, he sighed softly. "The things which have been done in my name... they will cease, I promise you as the poorest payment I can offer. It will take time, and yet I can't but do what must be done to undo the very effects of Chaos that they swore to fight."

Tarna was fairly well stunned under the circumstances. She then remembered the orb, and went "Um..."

"Yes?" the Emperor asked simply, his mental voice seeming to grow incrementally stronger as the malaise of Tzeentch's influence for the thousand or more years past began to slip away.

"I've something I was told to give you, as a ... gift..." She pulled out the other orb.

The Emperor's gaze shifted to it, then back to her in faint surprise. "A gift... from the Eldar?" He looked past her to Melaran, once again thoughtful. "Unlike the psychic stink of Tzeentch upon the one you seem to have stolen, there is no hint of it to this one."

He mused and mulled at the idea for a moment, then lifted a hand from the throne with obvious effort and turns it palm-upward.

"I will accept it, in curiosity."

Tarna smiled at him and gave him a respectful bow.

The Emperor sighed, looking at the orb, and then to her. "I would ask that you destroy that foul thing you took, but I can See that there is something greater intended for it though the paths are too fragmented to know anything beyond that it will bring great anguish to Chaos. In that, I am content. Your way will bring you soon from here, and I can already feel the approach of other guards. Go in peace, that I may rest and regain my strength at last. May the God you follow smile upon you both," he tepped the last with cryptic certainty, and then closed his eyes, the mental contact severing.

Tarna looked at him again for a long moment, then turned slowly to look over at the Eldar again.

The other two Eldar had remained silent throughout, unbelieving of their situation but taking their cue from the 'Farseer' who had remained quiet as well. None of them looked particularly well, not surprising in light of their recent wounds and even more recent ordeal, actually quite _well_ in that respect. They looked suddenly very alert as the sounds of approaching footfalls were heard, ready to die if they had to...


	18. Prankster's Rewards

"Well, wasn't _that_ exciting?" Bob asked quietly, looking at Tarna and Melaran with a faintly sad smile. No sign of the other two Eldar was to be seen in the playroom they suddenly found themselves in again.

"'Exciting' isn't quite the first word that springs to mind," Tarna said dryly.

"No, I didn't expect it would be," Bob replied. "But then I would hope you understand that everything had to happen as it did. I can't say that I blame you for not being overjoyed with the end of our little game, but I won't apologize for any of it. Not for my children who died, not for your suffering, nor any other part of it."

"Where are the other two?" Tarna asked.

"They've gone home, where they most wished to be," Bob responded with a quirked grin. "As did the souls of the children who died in this. I thought it only fitting that they be returned to the Infinity Circuit as the only reward I could offer them."

Tarna gave a bit of a nod, relaxing slightly at least. "And this..." she said, pulling the orb out to hand to him.

Bob reached out to take it, not toying with it as he had the other but simply making it vanish.

"I'll be taking a little trip to see my brother soon, he'll be glad of these little baubles though the old stick would never admit it. The Gods of Chaos are truly going to curse you, all the way to the hell that they've earned for themselves."

Tarna sank down, far too much tension draining from her. "So what will this mean for the Chaos Gods, then?"

Bob chuckled, hopping up to sit on a table and letting his legs swing freely, merely watching for a moment in thoughtful silence. Melaran, his physical wounds healed though still drained from his own untrained rage, walked over to sink to his knees behind her, and gently rubbed her neck and shoulders, dipping his head to gently kiss her hair and merely revel in the moment of being alive, well, and together.

"To borrow a phrase I heard lately," Bob replied with a twinkle, "They are well and truly fucked. I doubt you can even begin to fathom the depths of vengeance for the countless people who have died over the years my brother harbors inside him. He slept, yes, but he _knew_ , it was impossible not to. They are going to pay and pay dearly, you can believe it... and your own actions in this place will echo for years to come as well. Far beyond what you may imagine," he finished softly, almost absently looking past them as though at a tapestry and its twisted skeins, and smiled with satisfaction.

Tarna relaxed under Melaran's touch, letting out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad," she said quietly.

"So!" Bob exclaimed, coming back to the here and now and leaping down from the table. "That's that, then, or at least your part in the script. Other than what you want for a job far more than well done. Both of you are pretty much top on my list of favorite people right now, so ask away, sky's not even the limit."

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly as he looked at Melaran.

"I know what you're going to say, kiddo..." Imitating the Eldar's voice and pitch perfectly, he went all serious as he said, "You have nothing I could wish for beyond what you've already given me, Prankster..." returning to his normal mode, he smirked and rolled his eyes, "Gah, the sap's flowing freely this season. So, it's up to you..." he looked at Tarna, "Whaddaya want?"

Tarna gave a flicker of a smile at him at that for a moment. "Well..." she said quietly, thinking again briefly on her conversation with Melaran before they left for this last.

"Well?" Bob asked in apparent confusion, then grins as a well appears and he looks down into it and then back to her. "Awful deep and dark subject, how about giving me a clue, a hint, anything to work with here! Hell, even at cheapskate rates I'm lookin' at four favors I owe you and a bit more to the sap over there." He jerked his head at Melaran. "And I'm not even gonna count the ship I'm givin' ya to replace the one you flattened like a pancake."

Tarna giggled aloud at that. "You do certainly know how to cheer somebody up. I don't know why you aren't given more respect..."

Bob chuckled and shrugged, "Damned if I know, other than maybe living in a galaxy that has _zero_ sense of humor and everyone takes themselves too seriously. You put a big dent in that, girlie, for which you can be proud of yourself!"

Tarna smiled. "And as for that..." she said slowly. "I think... I think I'd gotten kind of attached to that other form..." she grinned a bit, seeming slightly embarrassed about the entire matter.

"What, this one?" Bob asked, and she reverted to the taller Eldar form, Melaran merely looking on with mute surprise behind her. "Well, easy enough, though if you change your mind... hmmm..." He paused in deliberate deep thought, then nodded sharply and snaps his fingers. "There ya go, change back and forth as you want, should be able to have some real fun with that if you're inclined!"

He laughed at the idea of all the possibilities. Tarna grinned broadly, and tried it out.

"Oh, neat."

She giggled, and changed back, and gave Melaran a smooch. Melaran was just looking a bit shocked at the moment, but smiled at her in puzzlement. Bob just laughs at his expression and points at the Eldar.

"May as well make it a matched set, kiddo, you get to do the same. Imagine all the trouble you can get yourselves in together sneaking around one way or the other! Hehee!"

He dug into a pocket and pulls out a coin that he flipped to Tarna.

"That's one down," he said, "But you've got more coming, just gimme a call if you think of anything else that you want. I'm kinda itching to go take a look around this new universe, since I think I can take a _much_ -needed vacation for a bit after you took care of a bunch of my problems!" The coin, unsurprisingly, is double-headed and bears a distinctly laughing jester's face, "Don't lose that, hear?"

"Well, there's one thing I can think of... and it would involve the Elkandu Universe too... But much as I'd like to, I can't say it because Jami put in a mental block against me doing anything that might possibly be less than beneficial to him," she said innocently.

It was, however, amusing how easily someone can kind of skirt the issue when they put their mind to it.

Bob grinned maliciously. "That's two, then, though that silly and largely useless block really should go but..." He looked at Melaran. "I think I'll let you two figure out how to get rid of that one, eh? Anyway, this Jami sounds like he'd be oodles and _oodles_ of fun to pay a visit to. He should be far too busy for far too long to even think about bothering you ever again. Trust me."

Tarna grinned broadly. However, if she'd thought that the block could be undone by anyone less than a god, she probably wouldn't have brought it up, and most likely it would have been removed years ago. Well, Angelita or Azale probably had the skill to manage it. Jami was just damned good and had a habit of putting in nasty little traps like making her mind implode if someone messed with it. She didn't really know what all traps he might have put on it... if any at all.

Bob looked at her mildly, catching the stream of thought and snorting. "Oh please. Omini-ominay-krishnay- _poof_! There, all better. Happy now?" He chuckled. "That was a freebie, or perhaps just part of the second. So there ya go, couple more to go and maybe something more for the goofy kid over there."

Tarna giggled and grinned. "Thank you. For everything, really." She looks back at Melaran, including him in the 'everything'.

Melaran merely nodded to Bob in agreement, slipping his arms around Tarna with unrestrained delight.

"Hey," Bob said, "What good does it do being a God if you can't have a little fun and help some people along the way, eh? Hell, if you normal folk can do it, sure as hell _we_ should! Anyway..." He smiled gently. "You kids be good and good to each other. Go outside, take a look at the choices I left for you out there, though I do recommend taking the big one!" He grinned broadly at that. "Specially modified, with a little surprise or two. Pick one anyway and away you go! Made sure that they all have any maps you might possibly need to get home. Think of it as an enforced vacation." 

Tarna beamed at him, and climbed to her feet slowly. "Thank you again. I certainly could do with one about now... I think I've had enough action to last me a few decades."

"Indeed ya have," Bob replied, grinning. "And now that you don't have to worry about your little problem anymore you two can just go and do... well, whatever the hell comes to mind wherever you want to. Sounds like a blast to me, and exactly what _I'm_ gonna do for now. Toodles!"

He waggled his brows, then vanished, the playroom light seeming to dim slowly toward darkness. Melaran rises as well, looking around at the place with a quirked brow.

"Let's get outta here, beautiful."

He flashed a grin at her, ducked in for a quick kiss to her cheek, then headed for the door. She grinned coyly at him and followed him out, a good deal more cheerful about matters now.

Melaran whistled lightly as they emerge from the shack, which incidentally vanished with a 'pop' behind them, two Eldar craft of various sizes and designs resting on the field. The smallest he identifies as a Phoenix, a two-person craft well-suited for fast running and quick maneuvers, similar in design to the ship the Corsair had brought Tarna here with so seemingly long ago. The other... was relatively large, roughly seventy feet or so in length, and still designed as a two-person ship with considerably better weapons, armor, and a stronger cloaking field.

"The advantage to that one," Melaran said with a grin, "is all in space. There's enough room in there for one of the crew to go back and comfortably relax for a while. Two if they're really comfy."

"Mmm," Tarna said, looking over the ships. "Yeah, I see his point..."

Melaran looked over at her. "Care to take a ride, lady? Pretty sure somebody left the keys for us somewhere around here. Provided, of course, that you're sure you can deal with all that extra speed, power, and a bit of leg-room to go with it."

"It would be a pleasure," she said, beaming at him and going over to the bigger ship to climb inside.

"And as much fun as you seemed to have with the whole thing," Melaran said with a smirk, climbing nimbly up the ship and popping the rear hatch. "It's good to be done and away from it, not sure I could have taken another round of his 'game' if it was anything like the last."

"I agree completely," Tarna said. "I think I've had enough games for the moment." She hopped inside and took a look around the interior.

Melaran did the same and frowns thoughtfully at a shimmering field laying across what would normally lead to the crew area.

"That," he said, looking at her, "Is not standard equipment. Looks like a Warp Gate... I'm almost afraid to take a look and see what his little 'modification' means."

Tarna grinned a bit and said, "I don't think we've any reason to be too afraid for the moment." She winked at him and goes to look.

"Oh sure," Melaran grumbled, "And you were the one that didn't run screaming when he said 'trust me' with that grin."

He followed with a snort, though, and was pleasantly surprised as the Warp Gate seemed to lead to the inside of a rustic cabin, complete with a fire roaring in a fireplace.

"What the..." he muttered, looking around, and snatched a note from the table, "Oh for the love of Bob..." He handed it over to her.

"Hey kids!" It reads, and continues on, "Figured you would pick this one, probably for all the neat and nifty armor and weapons, right? Riiiiight. Well, just as a little door prize, besides any other little surprises you might find you can turn this little pocket dimension into anything you can dream of. Just use your imagination! Comes in handy in allll sorts of ways. Hehe." It ends, and is signed, "Hugs and smooches, Bob."

"Neat," Tarna said, taking a glance around the place. "Hey, it may have been an insanely dangerous mad quest, but I can't say it wasn't worth it, all things considered..."

Melaran took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the last dregs of psychic exhaustion falling away beneath quiet and solid contentment. He smiled and held his arms out to her.

"It was worth every moment of it, dear Tarna. I'd not trade a single instant of it, no, not even dealing with the Prankster, for what I have gained in this."

She hugged him warmly, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly.


	19. A Stop at Iyanden

Tarna and Melaran emerged from the pocket realm in the back of the new ship that the enigmatic Prankster had given them. The other ship Bob had offered them had vanished sometime between when they'd entered the ship and when they came out again, and the island in the Warp itself seems to be growing faintly less distinct with the passage of time as well with the disappearance of its master. That seemed to be their cue to depart, and the vampire raider swept majestically away and into the roiling energies of the Warp.

"I was thinking," Melaran tepped thoughtfully, using the mode of communication more frequently to practice at the still somewhat unfamiliar abilities. "I'm definitely looking forward to seeing the other places you've mentioned, and Bob," he chuckled lightly at the Laughing God's chosen name, then continues, "was certainly good on his word and we have what we need to get there, but...'

Tarna was perfectly happy to be on their way, settling into the ship comfortably and watching him as they went. "But?"

The ship's gestalt interacted flawlessly, the inherently psychic nature of the Eldar used in the interface so that it often seemed to fly more by thought than by the 'cruder' instrumentation provided. Melaran considered for a moment, then smiled with a hint of melancholy.

"I think I'd like to stop by Iyanden before we go. Pick up a few things and say goodbye..."

Tarna gave a nod. "Certainly." She smiled gently at him.

"Thank you," Melaran replied simply, searching through the navigation data to find the appropriate course and setting them on it. "We're not that far away, and it looks like the space that was saved in crew accommodations was put toward heavier generators. Means we're going to go a bit faster than normally specified, even for Eldar craft. I won't get into what that means for offensive and defensive capabilities, for your sanity sake."

He chuckled and settled back comfortably in the control couch, drifting in thought as the fleet ship cuts through the Warp.

Tarna certainly wasn't objected to taking the moment to relax. "Afterward," she murmured, "I think a trip to Khizsalr is in order... The place _I_ grew up..."

"Most definitely," Melaran agreed with a grin, "I'll be interested to see the place responsible for what you turned out to be. Should be fascinating."

Tarna chuckled softly. "Khizsalr's unique, even for an Elkandu world. It's also known as the Plane of Towers. The place is made up of many provinces separated by massive forcefields called the Walls, and at the corners of each Wall there's a Tower that provides the only access between its adjacent provinces... Each province often has a very different climate, culture, and species that live there..."

"Sounds like a land just looking for trouble," Melaran mused, then chuckled. "At least from the perspective of someone who's seen nothing but trouble when various races come into contact with each other. Do they fight each other, or have they reached a more reasonable and rational settlement over the years?"

"They generally have very little contact with one another at all. The Archmages run the towers and control all traffic between the provinces."

"Hmm, so they've found a middle road with the aid of an outside force, then," Melaran responded. "And no one has ever tried to break down the walls or remove the control of these 'Archmages'? Seems a bit odd for the generally aggressive nature of sentient beings as a whole."

"From what I've seen, the sentient beings in the Elkandu Universe tend to be a bit more passive than the ones in this one." Tarna chuckled softly. "Although the Walls of Khizsalr are said to have originally been put up to separate warring tribes, there hasn't really been a war there in as far as anyone can remember."

"More peaceful, sounds like a grand place to explore for a while," Melaran replied with a wistful sigh, then chuckled. "Though whether an old warrior will be able to keep from going crazy there is anyone's guess. Suppose I'll end up having to find _something_ to keep my occupied."

There were actually a number of things on his list in that regard, as he knew that there would be a great deal to learn about his unknown potential. That also said nothing about his company, which occupied more than a normal amount of thought lately he would readily admit... or deny, however he felt like responding to who asked. 

"Personally I'm glad enough for the Walls. It makes putting up a quarantine easy," Tarna commented. "The entire province of Analdia was wiped out by a plague about fifty years ago... nasty business."

"Plagues, nasty indeed," Melaran tepped, expression disgusted. "Well, at least the truly virulent ones spawned by Nurgle and his spawn should be no worry in times to come. Anything else may be contained by measures like you mentioned. There would definitely be advantages to such an arrangement!"

"That was the worst plague ever known to the Elkandu. It was called the Purple Death," Tarna went on. "Nasty, nasty. You were dead in a week if you were lucky... in a month if you weren't."

"Sounds like something Nurgle would dream up," Melaran snorted, adjusting their course marginally to avoid a detected Warp storm. "There are far better ways to die, and I would much rather face on that you have a chance of winning against or at least fighting."

"Indeed," Tarna said in agreement. "Three million elves died in Analdia..." she shook her head slowly. "And, of course, the Elkandu didn't care, as usual."

"These Elkandu..." Melaran shook his head. "From all that you've told me, they are not the kinds of people that I'd much care for. What worth the ivory tower when the lands around it are laid to waste while you lift not a finger to avert their destruction? Foolishness."

"Indeed," Tarna agreed. "They're very selfish and short-sighted on a whole. Someone once commented that every planet except Lezaria, Mezulbryst, and Wilderplane, maybe, could spontaneously blow up, and it'd take the Elkandu a hundred years to notice."

"Then we're unlikely to draw their notice," Melaran replied, chuckling. "And this is a good thing. I've had my fill of hare-brained, semi-psychopathic, godlike beings, remaining far from their eyes should be simple with them being asleep at the helm as they sound to be."

Tarna nodded in agreement. "That's the one good thing about them. 'Mensch' and 'mibis' are beneath their notice. They don't much care if anything happens to them, but they usually don't go out of their way to make life miserable for them..."

Melaran snorted lightly. "A ruler without a care for his people will soon enough find he has nothing to rule." He shrugged and shifted casually back to audible speech. "Has its good and bad points, though it'll definitely leave us with the freedom to act and react pretty much however we like and may need to." 

"Heh, who said the Elkandu actually ruled anything? That'd mean they'd have to give a damn," Tarna said, snorting derisively. "Occasionally one of them tries to take over the universe. The vast majority of the universe's population fails to notice."

"Even better then!" Melaran laughed, the image of a would-be god tinkering with the universe only to be _ignored_ just very funny to him. "Just stay out of their way and go about doing... well, whatever we decide to do." He chuckled and shrugged. "Can't say I'll regret the opportunity to meet them, and their inattention will provide plenty of opportunities to do something when we see it needing to be done."

"I'm sure we can visit Torn Elkandu if we really want to. Though I doubt you'd overly want to," she said, grinning.

"Torn Elkandu..." Melaran hmmed, "That the place that guy appeared to tell you was free of Chaos? Sure, wouldn't be somewhere I would have wanted to be then, but why wouldn't I want to see it now when that taint is gone?"

Tarna shrugged. "Maybe they'll have mellowed out a bit. One can only hope."

Melaran chuckled. "Now I'm torn between curiosity and absolute terror at the idea, your commentary has certainly been less than encouraging and inspiring. Though I suppose it's going to have to be a place to visit eventually, seeing as the stranger thought you were interested enough in its fate."

Tarna chuckled softly. "Oh, it's a very... interesting... place, I'll give you that. And we've only destroyed it around a dozen times, too."

"Then is must certainly end up on the itinerary," Melaran replied with a firm nod, grinning a bit, "How could I pass by an opportunity to examine a place that the irrepressible Tarna refers to as 'interesting'?"

She giggled. "And Azale? Oh, he's certainly 'interesting' too..."

Melaran chuckled, stretching languidly out in the control couch. "It seems that the term 'interesting' appears with appalling frequency when anything regarding your homelands is brought to light. I'm going to find myself thoroughly lost, confused, and dismayed, aren't I?"

"Probably," Tarna said. "But then, the same can be said of people who have actually lived there their entire lives." She snickered.

"Well that's some comfort, at least," Melaran replied with just a hint of dry sarcasm, "Are you _trying_ to convince me to remain in this galaxy with tales and hints of madness untold?"

Tarna laughed. "Oh, it's not that bad, really. Most places are downright friendly and peaceful."

Melaran shrugged it aside with a smile. "Wherever that road leads I'll gladly follow, with reason enough from the soul."

He finished the last with a quietly fond glance, then straightens and pays closer attention to the control gestalt as a chime sounds.

"Preparing for normal space translation," he said briskly, eager to finish the business yet remaining to him in his former home.

Tarna sat up, bringing her attention back to what they were doing.

The ship returned to the star-lit depths of normal space with a faint hum of the Warp engines, sensors revealing a peaceful system with several planets as they emerge. One of them even appeared to be life-bearing, most likely the reason that the vast bulk of the Craftworld hovered in serene orbit above it. Melaran contacted the Eldar ship, his identification received with faint surprise and they were given clearance to dock.

Cool light flooded the landing bay, a few Eldar seen through the canopy moving about with calm efficiency from one ship or instrument panel to another in their rounds. Melaran rose with quiet energy and opened the ship to the bay beyond, making a sweeping gesture to Tarna.

"After you, Lady. There is nothing here that will bring you harm."

Tarna grinned at him and nodded to him, and went to disembark from the ship.

Melaran followed after, stopping as he emerged and taking a deep breath of the air he'd once thought to never taste again. A faint melancholy rose at the thought, but he dispelled it easily with other, more pleasant memories and leaps lightly down to the deck. He looked around for a moment, then walked toward a nearby archway. 

"Come on," he tepped lightly to her, "I'll be shocked if we're not interrupted by someone back at my old quarters. Damned insane Gods anyway."

He trailed off with a definitely light humor, holding no real grudge. The corridors were much like the other Craftworld she'd visited, though there seemed to be far fewer Eldar encountered along the way. Tarna chuckled gently and went along with him, glancing around at the vicinity as they go through it.

They arrived at what had been his quarters, and Melaran seemed unsurprised that the doorway opened readily to his command and everything is much as he'd left it despite the time he'd spent away. The room was smaller than she'd been graced with at Ulthwe, but no less luxurious in its elegance, obviously a point of some pride among the Eldar to find beauty in all things and walks of life even as a soldier.

"There's really not much I won't just leave behind," he remarked quietly, looking around with the hint of melancholy returning. "How strange, really. How long have I lived here, and yet I'll leave it behind without a second thought?"

He shook his head thoughtfully and went to open a delicately etched cabinet.

Tarna took a glance around the place and watched what he was doing. "Well... it's not like you couldn't visit, after all, right?"

"Never do anything by half-measures," Melaran replied with a quiet chuckle, closing the cabinet again and returning to place a couple shipsuits on the bed. "A lesson learned from a wise man long ago. I will always love and respect my people, Tarna, but this is no longer my home, nor could it ever be anything beyond another place to pass through. They're an example of extremes, and I'm finding I need to find a middle ground."

Tarna chuckled softly and gave a nod. "Well... there's a lot more of that to go around than you'd think by looking at this universe."

"A middle ground?" Melaran glanced over at her with a quirked grin. "Or extremes? The second I'd say you're crazy if you thought I didn't recognize and see them. The first..." he shook his head and walks to a door, uttering a faint melodic crescendo to bypass its security. "I think there's no such thing here."

"Yeah..." Tarna said. "For all their faults, they aren't nearly as intolerant and xenophobic back home as I've seen here, for the most part."

"There's been reason for that, unfortunately," Melaran replied.

The acoustics of the naturally flowing room carried his voice clearly as he walked into the next room and began to examine what tools of his trade remained there. The armor he'd worn as a Guardian was gone, of course, which left only a Swooping Hawk's arms and armor that he'd be wanting to move later.

"Thousands upon thousands of years of unending battle and bloodshed will have that kind of effect on a place, can't really blame them for it really. But after unleashing that Storm when you were endangered..." he goes quiet for a moment, then continues, "I have to find a road somewhere between that and the way of the Eldar."

Tarna sighed softly, and gave a nod. "It's not to say everything's always been peaceful, of course. We've had some fairly spectacular wars. But the wars _ended_ , and things were peaceful for a while."

"I doubt they'll ever end here," Melaran replied softly, emerging with bits of this and that which he'd be wanting to take with them later. "Even should the Empire of Man no longer be manipulated by Chaos spawn, there are far too many opposing factions to ever allow for peace. Only the Empire might be considered 'friends' of the Eldar, at times."

"At times," Tarna said wryly, smirking faintly. "But even still, there isn't fighting at all times in all places, even if there might always be somebody fighting somewhere."

"The mightiest of the Empire's soldiers, the Space Marines, are bred for battle," Melaran countered. "Do you really think they'd ever be able to survive without it? Not," he added with a rueful look at the things he's been setting aside for keeping, all elements of armor and weapons, "that the Eldar are any better than that in the long run. Too many ages of war, too much blood and hate."

Tarna mused listlessly, "So much time spent thinking about death that people forget what it means to really live."

"And so, the middle road," Melaran said quietly, "It's definitely not going to be easy, but I'll be damned if I let the chance to look beyond what we've always known pass me by. Bob gave me that opportunity, and I sure don't want him coming back to haunt me if I screw up any of his gifts!"

He grinned and ducked back into the closet, returning to add a bit more to the growing stack to carry along.

Tarna giggled, glancing over all the... stuff he's putting out. It would appear even now that he was preparing to go to war, as the pile consisted of all the things that would be needed or useful in such an endeavor. A few diagnostic and repair tools were included in the mass, but the bulk of their repairs were done through more esoteric means and required nothing beyond the mind.

"Oh no," Melaran continued, stepping out with a final load and leaving only the armor itself inside for now. "If I see that madman again in this lifetime, I want it to be on terms that don't have anything directed at, shooting at, or otherwise affecting you or me!" He chuckled, then looked at the pile and rolled his eyes. "Training. Habit and training. Insidious stuff."

"Heh. You should see some of the stuff I carry around sometime," she said, indicating her bag of holding. "Souvenirs from more universes than I care to remember..."

Melaran looked at her with bright speculation. "Hmm, something like that could come in quite handy right now, rather than having to drag a gravcart in here and carry it all away. Don't suppose you have another stashed around on you someplace, do you?" He grinned with feigned innocence, "I would offer my assistance in finding it, if the lady is unsure."

"No, but I'm sure it'll all fit regardless." She grinned at him. "Can pick up another at Torn Elkandu when we get there. They sell them there."

"Oh fine, be that way," Melaran groused, though still grinning. "I suppose that'll have to do for now, and I can just wear the armor out of here." He breaks off and looks thoughtful, "Speaking of which, should get you set up for an appointment with an artisan to have a suit crafted for you. It's a lot more flexible and comfortable that way, and really doesn't take all that long since the basic materials are kept on hand."

He nodded and crossed to a crystalline node, accessing it and waiting for a reply which he opened up to her as well while he communicated with a thin Eldar, almost to the point of gaunt. The artisan's time was free for the foreseeable future, and he invited them to come by at their convenience before the link closed.

"Sounds good," Tarna said, grinning some more. She pulled out the bag out of her pocket and tossed it over to him.

Melaran snatched it neatly from the air and opened it to look inside, then over at her. "I admit to being, and still being, very curious about this thing, after seeing all the strange things you've pulled out of it."

He shook his head, turning to the more practical matter at hand and kneeling beside the pile to start putting things into the bag with initial hesitation.

Tarna giggled a bit. "It's called a bag of holding," she explained. "It'll hold... Abyss, I don't even know how much it'll hold. You can take a look if you really want to. I'm sure it'll be... amusing."

"I think I'll take your word on it," Melaran replied, frowning with a bit of puzzlement as yet another improbably large box fit into the bag without a hitch. "Though I _do_ think I'm going to like these things. You wouldn't believe the number of times I'd have killed for something like this while flitting from battlefield to battlefield, only to find something that got left behind."

Tarna chuckled. "Yes, they're very useful." She watched him put things in absently.

The pile was diminished and disposed of quickly enough, and Melaran stood again to took a look around, then simply shook his head at finding nothing of real 'personal' attachment that he'd want to take with him. The perils of a soldier's life, he mused, and silently vowed to make up for lost time in the future.

"So," he said, offering the bag back to her. "Anything screaming for attention, or just enjoying the peace for now?"

Tarna put it away and shrugged. "Well, it's nice not to be shot at or worse for once at least." She winked.

"It is nice now and again," Melaran replied readily, "Though with the 'game' over we can hope for a bit more of it in the days to come. Especially seeing as 'Bob' put us on an enforced vacation... his own words, mind you!"

He smirked and shook his head, but wasn't going to really complain for the opportunity.

"I'm certainly not going to complain about that," Tarna said. "I could use one, too..."

"Well you're going to get one," Melaran said with certitude. "If I have to take a shuriken catapult to anyone who tries to decide differently!" He arched a brow as a light chime sounded, quirking a smile, "Appears I already have my first dragon to slay in defense of fair maid."

Chuckling, he crossed to the door and opened it, but stepped back as he recognized the features of the woman waiting patiently in her armor.

"Leravaniel," he offered formally along with a bow, then smiled in greeting. "It's good to see you again, Lera. How are you?"

"I am well, Melaran," the Eldar woman replied, walking lightly within and looking around, then turned a curious look to Tarna. "I was surprised enough to learn of his return, even more so to find one who is unknown to me here." She offered a polite bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you...?" she finished on a polite, inquisitive note.

"Tarna," she said, nodding to her politely in greeting.

"What are you doing here, Lera?" Melaran asked with a grin, "I figured they'd be keeping you hopping from Gate to Gate with the Banshees as usual."

Lera looked over at him with a quietly-arched brow, his speech sounding a discordant note in her ears.

"Even such as we are allowed periods of rest, as well you know from your own times among the Paths of the Aspects. That you have returned while granted such a rest I consider most fortunate, as you and..." She hesitated for a moment, the continued firmly, "Dolen were listed as missing and presumed lost."

Melaran's expression shifted to a faint smile as he looked at the woman, and he gestured to Tarna. "Things aren't always so simple or final as we think, she has something you may want to hear."

He barely repressed an inappropriate laugh as Lera turned with quietly intent interest to look to Tarna in question.

Tarna gave a nod. "I crossed paths with Dolen a couple weeks ago. Far, far away from here, but alive and well when I saw him."

The Eldar woman's reaction to the news was minimal to the outside eye, but Melaran's escaped chuckle lent more to it as did Lera's quelling glance at him before returning her attention to Tarna.

"What world?" she asked quietly, "His presence has been missed by those who know him, and they... we... I would be glad to know when he might be returned to us."

"Last he was seen was in a place called the Karzan Galaxy," Tarna explained slowly. "The forces of Chaos had discovered a sort of bridge that allows travel between different galaxies, and set about to invading other places by means of such..."

"I might have suspected," Lera mused and smiled thinly, offering a tilt of her head in acknowledgement. "It is unsurprising to find that one following our ancient foes wherever their taint may lead. Many thanks to you, for delivering this news though it lends no great hope in his return to this Craftworld..."

She hesitated a moment, reserve clearly battling with indecision.

"If you should meet him once more within distant lands," she continued, "Tell him that he is not to forget, as he has not been forgotten." A flicker of a hand dismissed it for now, and she said, "I suspect that you will not be remaining here long, if the ever wandering ways of this feckless Eldar are consistent." She indicated Melaran with a faint smile. "I will tell the others of this, and wish your journeying prosperity and growth."

Tarna grinned wryly at that. "I will be certain to tell him of such should I see him in my travels."

Lera smiled lightly in reply, then turned her attention to Melaran. "And you, do not think to evade friend and foe alike so easily as mere death in the future, do I make myself clear?"

Melaran chuckled at the fierce expression and bowed in silent acceptance of the scold, which seemed to mollify as she continues with a softer smile.

"Be well, Melaran. I shall not ask your path, before or behind, as it is likely not mine to know. We shall await you, whether here or upon the Infinity Circuit, do not doubt it."

She looked at him in silence, a flicker of curiosity and speculation escaping the standard Eldar reserve, then merely turned and left without another word. Tarna watched her go, and turned back to Melaran with a chuckle. Melaran watched the other go, then turned back to look at Tarna, laughter bubbling.

"Oh, I really shouldn't laugh," he said, still doing so anyway. "But looking back at myself and seeing similar utter self-discipline just... Heh. Well." He cleared his throat and shook his head, bringing the laughter to bay.

"I think I see what you meant about this place," she said gently.

Melaran smiled a trifle sadly. "It's all I've ever known, throughout the long years as more and more have passed on to the Infinity Circuit or the Warp, slowly decaying and yet somehow holding true to the purpose at the heart of what the Eldar are." He shrugged. "It is part of my soul, but not where I belong anymore. It's... strange."

She went over and hugged him, and said, "Have you got everything?"

Melaran lingered at the touch, then sighed as he drew reluctantly away. "Let me get into the armor, that'll be one less thing I have to come back for. I'm suddenly feeling a need to be gone from here."

He ducked back to the secured locker and began to do so. Tarna nods and watches him raptly.

"I think it's time to get you set up," Melaran said.

The process seemed to have eased the melancholy a bit as he emerged. The armor's weapons were already stowed away, carrying them openly not something he felt like doing at the moment in deference to the peace and quiet which reigned aboard the Craftworld itself for the most part. He looked around one last time, then back to her with a smile.

"Ready to go see the artisan?"

Tarna gave a nod. "Anytime. Let's go."

Melaran nodded and led the way, armored soles making little more sound than before as they passed through the corridors and to a transit station. A short time later and they arrived at a spacious workshop cluttered with a vast array of bizarre tools, instruments, and scraps of armor. The gaunt Eldar they'd contacted earlier looked up from a project he was working on and smiled thinly as he recognized them.

"Come in, and welcome," he said, rising with the usual Eldar grace, though a faint limp was noticeable as he approached them and looked at Tarna appraisingly. "What Aspect do you seek the armor of? In days gone past I would assume that of the Howling Banshees, but those days are no more."

Melaran began to chuckle, the sound turning into a rather odd gurgle suddenly and he touched Tarna's shoulder. "I'll leave you to it," he said for the benefit of the artisan, then added in a mildly nervous tep to her, "The Farseer is summoning me. I will return as soon as I may."

Tarna nodded to Melaran and turned back toward the other pensively. The artisan didn't seem particularly interested either way as Melaran left, his interest turning fully to his craft as he walked a thoughtful circle around his current project with a critical eye.

"Hmm," he remarked thoughtfully, and nodded as he walked over to a long shelf growing from the wall to take down some notes. "What Aspect then?" he prodded again, "Not often do I receive a task for one from another Craftworld."

"Striking Scorpions," Tarna replied.

"Striking Scorpion?" the artisan replied with faint surprise, then offered a single handed shrug and sought out the materials that would be needed without further question.

He was old, very old, but that meant little among the Eldar beyond a greater depth of knowledge and skill at their trades, and he would say that he was among the best and it would not be merely Eldar superiority. He required her presence for the time, fortunate as she wouldn't be sure where to go in the leviathan bulk of the Craftworld anyway and her guide had abandoned her! The armor began to take form, the basic plates already prepared ahead of time and the artisan's touch bringing the whole together with a master's touch. Tarna could feel a low thrum of power, almost a symphony as he worked, the armor answering and growing to the tune.

Some time later, the work was complete, and the artisan nodded with satisfaction as he viewed it. "It will serve you well, I would believe," he said with certainty and quiet pride.

Tarna looked over the armor assessing it appreciatively. "Lovely," she said. "You have my thanks." She bowed her head to him.

The artisan bowed to her with a smile, "Use it well, warrior, I envy you the opportunity."

He straightened as the door to his workshop opened and Melaran stormed in, looking at the younger Eldar with faint disapproval at the brusque manner.

Melaran looks over Tarna, his expression tightly controlled as he asked, "Is it finished?"

Tarna nodded to Melaran. She tepped to him, "Is something wrong?"

"Not now," Melaran replied tersely and she could feel a roil of restrained anger edging it as he turns to bow stiffly to the artisan. "My thanks as well, Master Artisan. We must bid you farewell."

He turned abruptly and left the workshop, the artisan watching after for a moment and then returning to his other projects with a delicate mental shrug. Tarna frowned faintly and headed out after him, a little confused.

"We're leaving after a quick stop by the armory," Melaran tepped as he continued along, his pace energetic with the still-simmering of rage coiling inside him, and not stopping until they reached said location. A Guardian stood watch but didn't challenge their entry, and Melaran began to gather the weapons her armor would require or might use, as well as some spares.

Tarna didn't argue or complain, still wondering silently what was wrong. Melaran rested his hands on a rack, feeling a flicker of her concern and it acted to cool his anger by degrees.

"I'll explain when we're out of here," he tepped, a gentler and apologetic note to it. "I promise."

He finished gathering what they would need, then borrowed her bag to stow it safely away that they could depart once more. She gave him a nod, accepting that for the moment and patiently waiting as he finished up his business here. Melaran finished shortly and ushered her back through the corridors toward the landing bay, his step slowed as they neared and she could hear him expel a breath in a hiss.

"Damnit!" he said, then shook his head and stormed with renewed energy into the bay. The source of his anger was there, as he'd felt, Iyanden's Farseer standing serenely near their ship. "Get out of the way," Melaran grated, shocking the Eldar nearby at the lack of respect.

Tarna blinked in surprise herself at Melaran's behavior. She looked between them wondering just what was going on here. "Melaran?" she said tentatively.

"Try and talk some sense into him," the Farseer directed to her, his expression remaining calm as he continued, "I realize you are not truly of us, but even you must know that his leaving without training what has appeared in him and controlling that obvious rage will lead to nothing but danger for you both."

The old expression of looks which kill might be fanciful, but among psychic races that wasn't necessarily so and Melaran's gaze grew more heated as the other Eldar spoke.

He took a deep breath at her question, reining some measure of it in as he replied without shifting his gaze, "I think you can guess what he wants, what he ordered me to do, and the things he might have said when I refused."

Tarna sighed softly and looked at Melaran. "I--I'm fully capable of training him myself," she said quietly. "And will certainly make sure that he does so."

Melaran's stance lightened only slightly at her words, but he did subside as did the harder edge of his anger.

The Farseer merely studied her in silence for a long moment, then spoke with quiet authority, "You do not know what you risk, any more than he does in throwing away that which we have so long strived to maintain as a race. Rigid self-discipline is vital to those with the Power, lest they succumb to the very rage he simmers with even now. Indeed, it is very potent, but it leads in the end only to the embrace of Chaos unless it is controlled."

"The touch of Chaos is not nearly so strong where we intend to go," Tarna commented. "Regardless, I _am_ fully trained in the ways of the mind. I'm no Farseer, certainly, but..."

"I could enforce my command," the Farseer replied with chilling implications, but sighed quietly as the energy that had recently dissipated rises to dangerous levels once more. "But I shall not," he said with some reluctance, mourning the loss of a potential resource for the depleted Craftworld, and merely began to walk away. "Leave now, Melaran Sadron, and you abandon all that entails being Eldar. Do as you believe you must, as will I should the day I have Seen come to pass and you stand against those who were once your kin."

Melaran, still harboring a seed of respect for the powers of the leaders of the Eldar, was momentarily confused and unsure as the Farseer's words doused his anger like ice water. He didn't accept the implied invitation to follow, however, instead turning to Tarna with a tightly controlled expression. "Let's go."

Tarna stared off after the Farseer for a moment, then turned to Melaran and gave a short nod and goes to board their ship. Melaran remained silent throughout their departure and return to the Warp, only breaking it at last with a glance to Tarna that's laced with a hint of repressed emotion.

"What course, fair one?" he asked with a forced cheer, ready to set out and away from this blighted universe!

"Torn Elkandu," she said simply, giving the coordinates for it.

Setting the course, Melaran eased back into the control couch and descends into uncomfortable, brooding silence. The Farseer's parting shot was entirely too close to the worry he'd felt following his earlier murderous release of Power in her defense, and he wasn't sure where that middle road he'd been thinking of might be found...

Tarna didn't seem to be concerned about it at all, but seemed to realize it was bothering him and said, "I wouldn't think too hard about it if I were you. Looking at the future is never reliable even in the same universe, and almost impossible across universes. And even in the unlikely event that it manages to happen at some point or another, that makes no assumption about the reasons or circumstances behind it nor the outcome."

At least that was nicer than saying 'prophecy is bullshit'.

Melaran listened closely, yet it did little to assuage his concerns other than a small glimmer of hope that it might be true. Farseers could project the future, definitely in the short term as he'd experienced on the battlefield, would the longer be any different? They weren't Gods, despite the reverence that the Eldar held for them, and only the Prankster had shown an infallible grasp of it that he had seen.

He sighed at last, closing his eyes. "He's right in a way, though, that anger... the Eldar have always been capable of depths of emotion going to extremes, only the meditative trances and discipline curbing them after the Fall. Without that restraint, which the Prankster loosened, I..." He fell once more into thoughtful silence.

"Tends to be better to control something than suppress it entirely," Tarna observed. "I'll teach you what I can, at least. I'm hardly the best among the Elkandu, but I'm not the worst either."

"That middle road is vital to me," Melaran murmured, eyes opening and turning to her. "I won't go back to what I was, not when I have so much to lose by doing so..." He took a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "A world of extremes can never survive contact with that which isn't itself, and that's what that crazy bastard was trying to show me. Gonna have to figure out that compromise if I want to stay sane."

Tarna smiled gently at him and reached out to touch his arm reassuringly. "And know that I'll help you in any way that I can."

"You'd better," Melaran replied with a quiet chuckle. "You think I'd risk annoying a Farseer for insinuations made against anyone else?"

"What insinuations?" Tarna wondered lightly.

"Nothing of import," Melaran dodged the question. "Only enough to spark that same anger that you've seen twice now. It would appear," he added with a smirk, "that the world is determined to use you as fuel to press my abilities forward and sharpen their edges with emotion."

"Tell me anyway," Tarna pressed gently.

Melaran sighed in reluctant resignation, "He danced about what he wanted, as they always do, spouting the typical mystical and enigmatic crap. It was when he brought you up and tried to sting my 'Eldar Pride'," he snarled the term, "as you were truly not one of us..." He shrugged and looked out into the shielded glow of the Warp beyond the cockpit. "So much power, yet he can't understand a soul."

Tarna snorted softly. "Well, I'm apparently good enough for a _God_. Hmph." She shrugged a bit.

"I didn't mention that little bit." Melaran smirked, easing out of his anger and letting it go at last. "Not that he'd have found the God in question as a very good reference anyway. Probably would've had to fight our way off Iyanden just to avoid getting tossed into a cell for our own protection."

Tarna giggled. "Well, there's that. No matter. We won't run into so much of _that_ where we're going. And I think we've plenty to teach each other along the way..."

"Indeed." Melaran smiled and rose. "Who knows what we can figure out to do between your own psychic abilities and my own, whatever their limits may be." He shrugged. "Right now, since the course is set and there's time to go, I'm going to get out of this armor and try to meditate... or something."

She nodded to him. "Alright..." Meanwhile, she'd like to do a bit of practicing herself, not really being used to wearing armor yet.

"After you, then." Melaran grinned and gestured her ahead of him. "Not that I'm distrustful of Bob's gifts or anything, mind you, truly! But, uhhhh, you can decide what sort of environment you'd like our little 'pocket realm' -- whatever _that_ meant! -- to be for now."

She chuckled softly and went to head back.


End file.
